


Do More of What Scares You

by RogerTaylorCanRawMe



Series: Queen One-Shots [9]
Category: Bohemian Rhapsody (Movie 2018), Queen (Band)
Genre: Anxiety, Cunnilingus, F/M, Fluff, Roger Taylor smut, Roger being an absolute cutie, Smut, an absolute softie, roger being a giant cutie pie, unprotected sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-03
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-03 18:03:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogerTaylorCanRawMe/pseuds/RogerTaylorCanRawMe
Summary: You and Roger are dating, however, you couldn’t be more different. He’s charming and adventurous. As much as you would like to be that way, your anxiety tends to hold you back. But Roger’s smitten and he wants to help you in any way he can.





	1. Dipping Your Toes In

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this, please let me know. I reckon it could be a great series. Thank you so much for reading!

It was your second date with Roger. A picnic in the countryside where no one could bother either of you. No prying eyes, no crowded spaces. The polar opposite of Roger’s natural habitat, but somewhere you felt right at home. What could possibly go wrong? Especially after your first date didn't exactly go swimmingly.

He had insisted on picking you up.

You insisted you could drive yourself.

He was having none of it.

Why was he so endearing?

Peering through the slats in the blinds, the street below seemed to have a dull thrum to it. Crawling with a quiet life of its own. The sun was out, and so was every soul you knew. 

Dry mouth, heart thumping. Beads of sweat trickled down your brow; a scorching summer’s day didn’t pair well with the tunnel vision inducing rollercoaster in your brain that sped away with all your excitement. 

After the first date, you were convinced he didn't want to see you again.

But sure enough, he called the following morning. He was keen. You prayed he would lose interest. No more embarrassing yourself. No stumbling over your words. Or rehearsing answers to every question he could possibly ask you. No more fucking up.

But then again, there was something good about him. 

Good for you. 

Balance. 

Roger was charming, full of life. He never let anything hold him back. 

And you? You were aloof, serious. You had so much holding you back that you could never quite catch a breath. 

Especially around him.

Still, you dared to hope he would draw out the best part of you. Something that had packed up and left a long time ago. 

When did you get so careful? When was the last time you did anything that scared you?

Last week over dinner with Roger.

Today, making sandwiches. 

What if he didn’t even like cheese and Branston Pickle? 

Better make some jam ones. 

Just in case.

The trees across the street didn’t sway the way they usually did. The air seemed thick and heavy, rising up from the street in pale, grey swathes that your neighbours happily wandered through in their shorts and sandals, lazily lapping away at their ice creams or chugging cold beers.

You ached to enjoy it without the great weight on your chest and pinpricks in your line of vision. And the ringing. Oh god the ringing in your ears was infernal.

That wasn’t the devil on your shoulder, hooting away.

It was Roger. Top down, shades on, in a beast of a car. He was looking up. You could tell he was squinting, gauging whether he had got the right flat.

You threw open the window, batting your eyes left and right. Checking to see if anyone but him was watching. “I’ll be down in a minute,” you said, slamming the window closed. You could just about hear a faint, “what was that?”

But your little jelly legs whisked you down the stairs, a hamper of sandwiches and fruit tucked under your arm. 

You blustered into the car next to Roger. 

He leaned in to kiss you on the cheek. He knew nothing about personal space.

You were all business. “Hi. Have you been waiting long?”

Roger shook his head and shrugged. “You look lovely.”

Your hands smoothed the fabric of your new red dress against your thighs, grasping at the hemline. “Thanks.”

Being around Roger was easy (as easy as your brain would allow, anyway). He liked to talk. A lot. And you were much more of a listener.

But then sometimes, he would talk too much. Or admire you for too long. You counted the amount of times he had swerved into oncoming traffic as he was ranting and raving, slapping his hand on your thigh.

Six. Six times. And you hadn’t left town yet.

And then you got out on to the open road. The houses gave way to fields and trees for miles around. Thick, lush green in every direction. And Roger’s foot? It seemed to be made of lead.

The force of the car pushed you back into your seat. Your fingernails dug into your thighs as the engine screamed through the stillness around you.

“You’re very quiet today. What’s the matter?” Roger asked. “Got the jitters?”

You managed to feign a smile, and a small shake of the head. “No, I’m alright.”

Everything surrounding the car blurred into one. Unable to pick out anything in the landscape before it got whipped from view, your could feel your stomach begin to churn. The sheer velocity of the car was enough. 

Roger’s voice turned into a muffled drone, as he gazed over at you. 

It happened in a flash.

Another driver with the same idea. 

The two cars missed each other by a whisker.

Roger laughed it off. 

You couldn’t.

You were pale with horror.

“Oh come on, we didn’t crash!” Roger assured you. “I’m a perfectly safe driver, darling.”

You eyed Roger. Jaw clenched. Not saying a word.

Roger flipped from being jovial to being serious, caring. Even his grip on your leg loosened. His voice wasn't as piercing - in fact he was uncharacteristically calm. “Do you want me to slow down?”

You nodded. 

The revs dropped. The world became clearer again.

“Thanks.”

“I just get a bit carried away, I’m sorry. I suppose I’m just trying to impress you.”

“It’s ok. I absolutely hate driving. I’m a nervous passenger anyway,” you said, laughing at how silly you feared you sounded.

“Why’s that?”

“I guess it’s about not being in control. Either way, you’re always at the mercy of other people.”

Roger seemed to understand what you were telling him. His eyes scanned the road ahead as he tried to work out how to respond. “Do you want to drive home? After our date, of course. Get your confidence up.”

You gave a haughty laugh. “Me? After what I just told you?” Your eyes were wide as you jabbed your finger to your chest.

“Yes, you. I’ll be right beside you. You’ll have nothing to worry about.”

You thought for a moment, getting lost inside your own head. Sure, the dread of Roger’s suggestion was present, but he, himself was a comfort you never expected. He was disarming.

“What do you say?” He asked, turning the car into a deserted lay-by. 

“You’d really trust me to-“

“Well you seem a lot more careful than I am,” he laughed, slipping off his sunglasses and placing them on your nose. “And I’m willing to bet you’re not as blind as I am.”

Your surroundings were out of focus but enlarged as you took in the world from behind Roger’s rose tinted lenses. You reached out into the void, your palm finding his face. Drawing your fingertips over his nose. His lips. His jawline. 

“You’re so blind,” you observed.

A look of utter joy had draped itself over your features for the first time in years. It felt freeing to wear it again. Even for a short while.

“You know, I bet you look really pretty,” Roger said quietly. “If I could see you.”

You giggled, delicately perching his glasses back on his face. “Still think I’m pretty?” You bumbled, looking out of the window. Now that he could get a better look at you.

To him, you looked like a painting as you surveyed your surroundings, your hair flickering ever so slightly in the country breeze. A work of art.

“Perfect.” He smiled. “I still think you need to live a little, though.”

You narrowed your eyes, looking at him again. “Live a little?”

Roger pursed his lips together, nodding. He was certain you knew exactly what that meant. 

You rolled your eyes and sighed. “Well that’s going to be a bit harder than just looking pretty for you.”

“I have an idea,” Roger said, wagging a finger in the air to stop you cutting him off. “Hear me out.”

You folded your arms, cocking your head to the side. “I’m listening.” You were in no mood for being receptive, however.

“Why don’t we - every time we see each other - do something that scares you a bit? Start off small. I’ll give it to the end of the year and you’ll be as bold as I am, I guarantee you.”

The suggestion had you giggling nervously again. That familiar pit in your stomach began to grow once more. “Who says we’re going to make it to the end of the year? You’ll be the bloody death of me, Roger!”

“Right,” Roger began, turning in his seat and taking both your shaky little hands. “There’s a reservoir about five minutes through those trees behind you. Let’s go for a swim!”

“Oh fuck,” you said, throwing your head back. “No.” Your cheeks burned at the thought. "No." Your heart felt like it had emigrated to the depths of your stomach. “No, I can’t.”

He rubbed your shoulders. “Or you could just dip your toes in and see how you get on. And then,” he paused, pointing towards the hamper at your feet. “You can eat all those lovely sandwiches while I freeze to death for your amusement.” 

He was so endearing you couldn’t say no to that. 

“Ok,” you resolved with a familiar rattle in your throat. “Let’s go swimming.”


	2. You Can't Swim In A Reservoir, Roger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baby steps...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kind words on part one - here's the next chapter. I have some lovely plans for this!

The air surrounding the water was crisp in comparison to the city. Back home it seemed to wrap itself around your neck in wispy yellow lassos. As if it was trying to choke the life out of you. All while you wrestled through the crowds to work.

But here, it was different. You had breath in your lungs here.

You and Roger were the only souls there. The dense tree line surrounding the lake was still and quiet. The water was a slate of smooth steel. Too perfect to touch.

You wandered, hand in hand to the edge of the jetty.

“This isn’t a reservoir, Roger,” you stated.

“Of course it is. You can swim in it.”

“You can’t swim in a reservoir. This is a lake.”

“They’re the same thing.”

Wrong.

A line of moored up boats on moulding ropes floated on either side of the rickety wooden aisle, like spectators at a wedding. Roger eyed them.

“Don’t get any ideas,” you warned him, staying one step ahead. Finally, at the very end of the wooden walkway, you sat down and took off your shoes.

Roger was a few paces behind, throwing off his clothes and leaving a trail.

Before your toes touched the water’s surface, Roger bypassed you. He leapt into the water, sending icy shards firing at your face.

You were quite content with dunking your feet in for the time being.

“I’ll tell you, this is just the thing!” Roger laughed, his head bobbing above the waves, mats of hair clinging to his face.

Reaching into the hamper for a sandwich, the nerves flooded back.

He was going to convince you to join him.

Better nip that in the bud, right away.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

You could hear him chuckling as he swam around at your feet, then he went under. Completely undetectable. Until he grabbed your ankles, making you shriek so loud that birds exploded out of the trees. He was giddy, looking up at you with a broad smile. “Put on my glasses.”

“What?” You said through a mouthful of bread and jam and butter.

“Put ‘em on, so you don’t get too fired up by this,” he said, flapping his arms. “No one can resist me.”

That was true.

You put on his glasses, your vision pink and impaired, in the blink of an eye. You did as you were told. You could see the trails Roger made in the water as he swam away from you, but not much else.

It was comforting. The trees seemed even more green, blending into a sludgy haze in the distance. And the sky. ‘Apocalyptic’ came to mind. Even though it was a brilliant day, the sun had decided to go into hiding over your secluded sanctuary. It abandoned you under cloudy canopies. This was summer in Britain, after all. The sky was an expanse of dusky pink with not one single break of light. Everything was a beautiful, muted calm from behind those lenses. You saw everything as Roger did.

“Have you finished your sandwich yet?” Roger called from the centre of the lake. He was a faint yellow dot in the distance, like the moon against the far off night. He threw his arm in the air, waving. “Can you come out and play?”

“I don’t know, Roger,” you laughed, curling in on yourself. “I’ll catch my death.”

“Ask your mum!”

You grinned, shaking your head.

You were actually considering it.

More than considering.

You wanted to do it.

“Well?” Roger asked, paddling towards you. “What did she say?”

“Maybe,” you announced, standing up, your legs quivering underneath you. “But don’t look.”

“I couldn’t even if I bloody well wanted to!”

Eyes rolling, you needed more assurance. “Right, cover your eyes.”

“Is that really necess-“

“Just do it!” You warned.

“Oh, alright then, since it’s you,” he said, pressing his palms over his eyes. “You do know I’m blind, right? I did tell you this, didn’t I?”

When you were certain Roger wasn’t looking, you turned your back on him. It made things easier if he were to see you naked. You wouldn’t have to see his face. With shaking hands, you pulled your poppy red sundress over your head and threw it next to Roger’s jeans. The chill in the air lapped away at your skin as you shed the rest of your clothing. “Still not looking?” You called, crossing your arms over your body.

“I might have had a little peek,” Roger admitted. He was quick to back peddle. “But remember I can’t actually see anything. You were a blur. A lovely… blur…. By the way.”

Turning around to face the lake, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of apprehension threatening to drown you. Never had you imagined you would be doing this. Let alone with someone.

He was waiting for you. Hands still covering his eyes. Keeping his word.

Your stomach churned with every dainty step you took towards the water. It felt like you were walking on hot coals but lacked the capacity to move any quicker. Arms still wrapped around your body, trying to cover up. There wasn’t an inch of skin on you that wasn’t veiled in goosebumps.

He insisted he couldn’t see you. But you weren’t buying it. Not for a second.

Finally, you were at the edge of the jetty, staring down at the churning grey abyss below.

Deep breath.

You took a baby step out, allowing yourself to be overcome for a moment. It was everywhere. Pitch black, clawing at your skin, right through to your bones. In your eyes. Up your nose. In your eyes. It stung. But you had never been more awake.

And then you broke through the surface.

Heart racing. Exhilaration. Clarity.

Roger was there. He looked proud.

Those little wheels in your mind slowed down, taking it in. 

“You can see me now?”

“I can see you perfectly.”

“Oh god.”

His hands were warm on your hips, underneath the barbed blanket that clung to your lower half. “You did it,” he whispered.

You laughed, turning in the water to get a better view of everything around you. Your heart was so full.

There was no fussing about which way your hair fell, or the mascara running down your cheeks. Or even the fact that you were here, naked in the middle of nowhere, with someone who, a couple of weeks ago was a stranger.

Instead, you were present and living. It felt so new. And all it had taken was one small step. “I did, didn’t I?”

Behind you, Roger had wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “I saw the whole thing,” he said quietly, kissing your neck. “And it was bloody marvellous. I’m so proud of you.”

You narrowed your eyes, turning to look at him. “I thought you couldn’t see?”

His mouth popped open. “I’m not completely blind. I’m just very short sighted.”

“Right.”

None of that mattered.

You and Roger stayed by the lake for the rest of the day. Huddled up at the end of the landing, eating sandwiches and watching the water sway below.

You talked about everything as you tried to dry off. And long after. How draining it was trying to keep up his mischievous public persona. He just wanted to drink tea and play scrabble. But he had appearances to maintain. And how, deep down, he felt like it was time for him to grow up. Be an adult. Work on his temper. Stop fucking about. Maybe buy a more sensible car and not crash it. All much to your dismay.

The sun reappeared towards the end of the day, cracking out over the tops of the trees on the opposite side of the lake. It was getting late.

“For what it’s worth,” you began, pulling up your underwear, “I don’t see why you should have to grow up.”

Roger was slipping on his shirt, a cigarette hanging from his lips. He raised his eyebrows.

“I’m probably the world’s leading authority on letting everything hold me back. And worrying too much,” you said, brushing his hands out of the way to fasten the buttons. “You’re fine the way you are.” You gave him a pat on the chest once you had finished.

“Well that’s good to know,” he said, looking at his feet. Then back at you. “It couldn’t hurt to be a bit more like you, though. A bit more careful.”

You shook your head, shuffling into your dress. “Why would you want that? Being this careful, it’s like being in prison. I was hoping you’d help bust me out of it, if that’s ok with you?”

“Still fancy driving back?” He asked with a smirk.

You grimaced, picking up the empty hamper and taking Roger’s arm. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day. You can see in the dark when you’re driving though, can’t you?”

Roger pushed his sunglasses up the bridge of his nose. “I think so. I’ll try not to kill us, if that makes you feel better.”

“You have such a way of making me feel calm, Roger. I honestly don’t know how you do it.”


	3. Fucked Up or Fucking?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After your date at the lake, Roger heads back to your place to do one more thing that scares you. But it doesn't exactly go according to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> s m u t. Thanks for reading, guys! The support for this has been so awesome and encouraging. I might have gone a little bit mad with this part - it's super long, sorry!

Roger sat in silence beside you, waiting out the rest of the journey home. The date had gone so well until you got behind the wheel of his car.

He liked to talk.

And you needed to concentrate.

You didn’t want either of you ending the evening in a ditch. 

That wasn’t to say you didn’t feel bad about telling him to be quiet. Respectfully, of course. His reaction was akin to that of a kicked puppy. That tugged at your heartstrings and made you second guess yourself. Even still, your mouth had gone dry. If you even attempted to choke out an apology, you feared those words might stick in your throat. Roger wouldn’t hear it if you tried. You knew that.

That wasn’t to say your assessment of the situation was accurate. It was far from it. Nearing town, the streetlights lit you up like an angel beside him.

You were so entrenched in your own pit of agony that you hadn’t realised he had been making doe eyes at you all the way home. How were you to know? Yours were on the road as you huddled over the steering wheel. Ready to react to anything that came between you and your flat.

Turning on to your street, you found it still bustling. Half drunk neighbours and their kids sat on the low walls outside their homes, cracking open stout bottles of beer.

“Nearly there,” you sighed, the relief evident in your tone. Your hand rested on the gearshift, working the car down to a halt outside your place. There was a quiet between you and Roger.

The pair of you stared straight ahead. Neither could bear to break the awkward silence. Saying the wrong thing was a clear possibility here.

“Well,” you said, wringing your hands together in your lap, “goodnight.” 

Half way out the driver’s seat, you felt Roger pull at the back of your dress.

“Wait, please.”

Glaring at him, you sat back down.

He wasn’t looking at you. Anything but you. His shoulders rose and fell steadily. His lips parted and then caught between his teeth.

“Roger? Is this about-”

Roger shook his head, smiling. “No. No it’s not.”

Despite your heart raging away and the surging in your ears, you could feel that he wasn’t comfortable. You reached out and took his hand. It was cold and damp.

“I had such an amazing day with you,” he sighed. He smiled and shook his head, like a man who had everything to gain but none of the belief. “I like you.” He paused, nodding. “I really like you.”

You huffed in relief. “Thank goodness for that.”

You hair was still damp, draped over your shoulders and falling into your eyes. Roger chuckled, reaching out to tuck it behind your ears. “Sorry if that scared you. I have a habit of being a bit too dramatic. And I don’t tend to go in for…” Roger tilted his head from side to side, searching around him for the rest of his sentence. “You know,” he leaned in close to you, whispering, “feelings.”

The last part of that announcement was wasted on you. Roger seemed to think he had done a bang up job of covering up his softer side as he laughed to himself. But his face fell just as quick realising you were gazing at a point beyond his shoulder.

The fancy car and its owner had attracted the attention of your neighbours, James and Maureen. Together with their neighbours from downstairs. They craned their necks, trying to get a good look at who you were with. 

“What’s the matter?” Roger asked, looking hurt. “If that’s too soon, I’m really-”

“It’s… it’s fine. My neighbours are feeling nosy,” you said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “They keep looking in.” Your cheeks burned, feeling so stupid for letting something as small as that get to you. You were certain Roger had to put up with far more. But this was your thing. Your one good thing.

“Oh,” Roger mouthed, leaning into you. “Maybe we should give them something to talk about?”

You looked left and right, then focused on Roger. “Like what?” Butterflies were beginning to surge inside you as you cottoned on.

He moved so close to you that you could feel his breath hot against your neck, lips to your ear. “I don’t think I want tonight to end.” He moved back, pressing his nose to yours. “Do you?”

That thing you did whenever your nerves reared their ugly heads happened. A half laugh, half sigh. All with a coy smile. And a fleeting kiss. You looked up at your flat window. “Do you want to go…” you trailed off, kissing him again, deeper this time. “Inside?”

“Are you ok with that?” Roger asked, pulling away from you. He placed his hand on your waist. His eyes full of concern.

You thanked your lucky stars for the darkness around you both. You had no idea how you looked, deliberating, but you could feel the heat rushing to your face. You were certain you looked ridiculous. 

In the back of your mind you knew what it meant. What he’d be expecting. It wasn’t exactly a huge jump away from him seeing you naked earlier. But to have him in your space, all around you, that was the difference. 

You snapped back to reality. Nodding. Going along with it.

You and Roger raced past your neighbours, nodding and giving them a curt, “hi.” Then up the stairs, stumbling arm in arm.

Bursting through the door and into your living room, you turned around and looked at the outline of Roger. He had his back to the door, waiting for you to switch on the light. But you enjoyed it like this. Still and dark. So quiet you could hear Roger’s awkward breaths against the backdrop of the dull rushing in your ears. Your chest heaved as you thumbed at the fabric of your dress.

“Do you want a drink?” you blurted. 

Roger jolted back to life. “Uh, yeah. Yeah. That would be lovely. Thanks,” he rambled, running his hand over the wall behind him. He found the switch. Light. At last.

Through in the kitchen, you began to search your cupboards for all the booze you had. White wine? No, too girly. Vodka? Come on, have some class. Whisky? What are you a fifty year old man or something? You took everything out, eyeing each bottle one by one. And then two glasses.

“Vodka.”

Roger was standing in the kitchen doorway with his arms folded. His eyes were half shut. But they were still on you.

“Hm?” you hummed.

“I’ll take a vodka.”

“Oh right. Ok, I’ve got you,” you babbled. “Mixers?”

Roger shrugged, entering the room. He picked up the bottle, reading the label, glasses perched at the end of his nose. “Christ, you don’t mess about. This is the strong stuff.”

“So do you need a mixer?” you asked. “Anything you like?”

“What do you usually drink it with?”

“Well,” you began, contorting your face to match your admission. “When I really need to get hammered… I’ll knock back a couple of shots.”

“I knew you were my kind of girl,” he said, opening the bottle and pouring a measure for you, then one for him. He raised his glass to his lips and paused, narrowing his eyes. “You don’t have to be drunk to… you know?”

The vodka brushed against your lips and retreated back into the glass. “Oh, no. No I didn’t mean it like that.” 

Lies, of course. 

“I don’t think there’s enough in there for me and you,” Roger said, pointing at the bottle.

Your bottom lip quivered. “There’s a first time for everything.”

Roger’s glass met yours, clinking. “I’ll drink to that.”

“Cheers.”

Setting down your glasses on the counter, you and Roger groaned as the vodka burned your insides. “Think that’ll take the edge off?” he asked, biting his lip.

You leaned on the counter, puffing out your cheeks. “Yeah. I’m good.” 

Lies again. 

Roger mirrored you, looking at you from beneath his eyelashes. His gaze wasn’t reserved for your face. That, you could handle. Instead, his eyes trailed from yours to your lips. Your neck. Lower and lower still as his teeth sank into his lower lip yet again. 

You edged closer to him.

His voice was much lower than usual. “Can I kiss you? Properly, I mean?”

“You don’t have to ask,” you said, wrapping your arms around him. Your insecurity was threatening to take another bite from you. But the vodka, what little of it you had, was fending it off for now. Your fingers clung to the back of Roger’s shirt as the gap between you grew smaller by the second.

He made such quick work of pulling you in by your hips, your bodies pressed against each other’s. Then, he stopped, a whisker away from your mouth. Keeping you waiting one more moment than you could stand. It was torture, fighting off the urge to close the gap. You could feel his breath catch on your lips as he whispered. “Good.”

Finally your lips locked. 

A reserved sigh accompanied Roger’s tongue tracing across your lower lip. You could taste the vodka on him as he doubled his efforts. He was fervent enough that you were already pinned against the kitchen counter. His hands weaved through your hair, tugging at the roots, keeping you right where he needed you to be. 

You were so overcome. Unable to move in a tug of war between apprehension and unbridled enjoyment, your fingers were still kneading away at Roger’s crisp, white shirt.

He strayed to your jaw, lavishing it with hungry, open mouthed kisses. 

You cracked when he nipped at your neck. Muffled mewls filled the room as he set about doing it again, purely for that same reaction. It made him even more impetuous. 

“You sound so fucking gorgeous,” he whispered, inching your dress up with his free hand and returning his lips to yours. 

His fingers on your thighs made you tense. 

Not this. 

Not again. 

You let go of his shirt as your body turned cold. You couldn’t hear his satisfied groans as he continued to devour you over the rushing in your ears. “Roger?” 

That seemed to fall on deaf ears. His fingers were either in your hair, or looping themselves under the waistband of your underwear. He was far too distracted. 

With all the strength you could muster, you planted your hands on his chest and pushed him away. Gasping for air, you couldn’t absorb it any faster if you tried. “I’m sorry,” you choked.

“Did I hurt you?” Roger fretted. “I know I can be a bit-”

You hushed him with your fingers, searching for a way around him. “No, no.”

Roger noticed, moving out of your way. “Take as long as you need.” He put his hand on your shoulder, ushering you out of the kitchen. “I’ll be here when you get back, ok?”

He didn't have to tell you twice, racing to the bathroom and locking yourself inside. The tiled floor was like ice underneath you, but why did it feel like you were the one cracking?

Back to the door, you pressed your hands over your eyes, rubbing at them. Wiping away tears that were yet to fall. You had tried so hard to be cool and calm. You wanted him. But your brain liked to throw stumbling blocks in your way. 

You couldn’t help but wonder how Roger would feel about this. You, cutting short a lovely evening to go and suffocate in on yourself on your bathroom floor. This might be the final straw for him. 

You could only hope that he wouldn’t be around to see you like this. After all, you still harboured so much pride, for someone who was prone to feeling like they were going to be swallowed whole when faced with the most average human activity. 

He was still there. Shuffling through the hallway.

He knocked on the door, the vibrations coursing through your body. “Are you alright in there?”

“Just about.” 

You weren't.

“I’ve made you a cup of tea.”

“Ok.”

“I’ll leave it here beside the door, ok, darling? Take your time.”

As Roger placed the tea on the floor outside the bathroom, you cracked open the door, looking up at him from the floor of the darkened room. “I should be out in a minute. I need to find my feet now,” you said with an embarrassed smile. 

Roger sat down in the hallway, handing you the cup of tea. “Do you need a hand?”

The first sip didn’t go down well. It felt like there was a fist around your throat, stopping anything from getting through. “No. My legs sometimes tingle when I get like this,” you spluttered. “I’m sorry for ruining your night.”

Roger’s expression flipped. “My dear, you’re going to need to stop apologising when you’ve done nothing wrong. You’ll only make yourself feel more guilty.” He was adamant about that. 

You shook your head. “But I did. We were having a great time and I-” you trailed off, gesturing towards the kitchen. “I fucked up.”

“But you can’t help it.”

“Even still.”

“You can’t help it.”

You nodded, half agreeing. You couldn’t.

“What was it that brought it on?” Roger asked. 

“Nothing that you did, honestly.” The defensiveness cut through your tone. There was no disguising it.

“Be honest.”

You shrugged like it was nothing. “I have a hard time letting people into my personal space like that. I have to know I can trust them. Sometimes it takes forever. Sometimes, it happens right away.”

“Ok,” Roger said.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I needed more vodka.” You attempted a smile through all the humiliation.

Roger reached out and took your hand. “Christ, you’re cold. Doesn’t help being sprawled on that bloody floor.”

Daylight found its way into your room. A pale gold lit up your humble abode through the curtains. Small snores came from underneath you, your pillow rising and falling in waves. Both of you were still clothed and the duvet lay discarded on the floor. Your face nestled into Roger’s chest, and his arm curled around your shoulders. He was warm and soft for someone so lithe.

Towards the end of the night, you and Roger must have found your way to bed. You couldn’t remember how it happened. All you could recall was the conversation from the bathroom floor. 

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking up at him. He seemed peaceful, still fast asleep.

Then the fear set in. What if he saw you like this, half asleep first thing in the morning? Not bathed. No make up. Morning breath. 

You rolled out of bed, careful not to make a sound. But your foot caught that one notorious floorboard and it was curtains. You gasped as you heard Roger stir. 

“Where are you going?” he asked, throwing his arm over his tired, delicate eyes. 

“I-I’m just going to clean myself up,” you stumbled. 

“Don’t be too long. I was enjoying that.”

In the bathroom, you leaned against the counter top, looking at yourself in the mirror. Dark circles. A pimple on your chin. A couple of stray hairs on your top lip. You were drawn to the imperfections you saw. Why would Roger enjoy you?

“Are you coming back to bed or what?” Roger called.

“Give me a minute!”

Teeth brushed, dirty clothes off and a once over with a washcloth. That was all it took before you were back in your room, clad in only a silk bathrobe. You thought nothing of it until Roger sat up, raising his eyebrows. 

“What?” you asked, tying it around your waist. 

Roger shook his head, grinning. “Nothing.”

Throwing yourself on to the bed beside Roger, you fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. You felt more bold than you were last night. “It’s something.” You undid all the buttons, while you waited for Roger’s response. Not looking at him. Only focusing on exposing the flesh underneath.

Roger’s breath hitched in his throat as you straddled his waist, giving his collarbones delicate kisses. “Are you wearing anything underneath that?” He asked.

You sat upright, caressing the strip of skin between his jeans and his navel. “Do you want to find out?” 

Roger’s hands came to rest on your thighs on either side of him. All he could do was look up and nod, renouncing all control of the situation. 

You smirked, taking one end of the silk tie in your hand, giving it a gentle tug. Enjoying Roger’s more malleable side, you decided to draw the act out. You bit your lip, cocking your head to the side. “Are you sure?”

“Please.” Roger’s fingers fidgeted on your thighs. “Let me see you.”

There was still that tense nervousness pulling away at your insides. But you would have been lying if you said that presenting yourself to him like this wasn't exhilarating. Wiggling your hips from side to side on top of him, you tried to gauge his reaction. “Like what you see?” you asked. 

Roger laughed, grabbing your hips as he rolled on top of you, pinning you down. “I think I’m going to keep you, yes.” He gave you a quick, ardent kiss, before picking up where you both had left off last night. “I think you must be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmured, allowing his hands and mouth to roam. He paused, blinking up at you. "Do you trust me?" 

Remembering your conversation from last night, a chill rushed through you. You didn't have to think about it. The fact that he had even considered asking you that question was good enough for you. "Yes. I do."

"Thank you." Resuming his work, Roger's hands had taken to your thighs while his lips imparted wet, hungry kisses on your breasts. His tongue danced over your nipple. He groaned as it hardened in his mouth, giving it a pinch with his teeth. 

Arching your back into him, you eased yourself into what was happening. Heat grew between your legs as Roger gave you a drowsy look, turning his efforts lower. You became more responsive as he spread your legs, dragging his fingers along the back of your thighs. 

Growing impatient, you whined in response. 

The feverish kisses on your stomach gave way to absurd, chaste little smacks along the inside of your thigh. Even the feeling of his breath on your skin had you rolling your hips with need. Whimpering into the pillow, you grasped at his hair.

He lazily played with you. Feathering his fingers up and down your slick slit, he marvelled at your arousal. “You’re so wet for me, darling,” he purred. He licked his lips, eager for a taste. 

All you could muster was a desperate hum before he let loose on you.

Roger savoured each long, ardent stroke, parting your folds with the flat of his tongue. It wasn’t his fingers pressing into your thighs, or the way he closed his eyes, or the sounds escaping him that gave his enjoyment away. It was the way he moved into you, fraught with hunger and the desire to please you. His tongue was forceful, lapping away at your lips, pulling them into his mouth. 

And you? All you wanted was more.

Even if you tried to roll your hips to reach your goal, he would only push back even more. You squirmed and writhed, aching.

Finally, his tongue brushed over your clit. It was fleeting but enough to elicit something more verbal from you. A pathetic, loud and needy moan, coupled with a sharp tug at Roger’s hair had him grinning. He looked up, “oh, you like that?”

You bit your lip, looking down at him. Nodding. Pleading with your eyes for him to do it again. Keep doing it. Never stop doing it. 

Roger had replaced his mouth with his hands, fingers lingering at your entrance. “Tell me how much you liked it,” he ordered, slipping two fingers inside you. He curled them in on themselves repeatedly, touching just the right spot to make your hips buck against him, gasping desperately. “Tell me,” he goaded. 

You screwed your eyes shut in frustration, struggling to verbalise how much you needed his mouth on you again. Managing to squeak out a feeble, “please,” you could hear Roger laugh as he continued to tease. 

“You sound so pretty when you beg.” Another quick dart of his tongue over your lips. “Tell me what you want.”

“Roger,” you called, fists balling up in the sheets, “please, I need to come.”

Roger swiped his tongue around, but not on, your clit, his fingers still working away inside you. The sound was obscene. “Since you asked so nicely.” 

He held nothing back. He focused all his attention directly on your most sensitive spot. The contact was absolutely electric, making your legs tremble and every muscle inside you pull taut as he moved his tongue and his fingers in sync. Chipping away at the last small semblance of control you had. It was relentless. 

He never let up as your fingernails clawed at his scalp. Or as the most unholy sounds escaped your lips. Certainly not when your cunt began to throb and quiver around his tiring fingers. Not until that knot in your stomach snapped free, leaving you breathless and your skin glistening.

It took forever for you to become coherent and lucid again, but when you did, Roger was still between your legs, laying affectionate kisses on to your stomach. You covered your face with your hands to process everything that had just happened, trying to clench your thighs together. 

Sensing the change in you, Roger moved up the bed. As he loomed over you, you could feel his cock press against your stomach through his jeans. His breathing was slow and heavy, your scent so clear on his skin. “Are you ok?” He asked, kissing your nose and both your hands.

Dragging your hands down your face, he came into view. You nodded and with a hoarse voice, you reassured him. “Yeah, I just need a minute.”

“Ok,” Roger whispered, starting to move to your side. 

“No, don’t,” you said, tugging at the edges of his shirt. 

Roger stayed put, stroking your hair as it splayed across the pillow around you, looking down and admiring you in all your flushed and tired glory. 

“This is a very attractive angle,” you murmured, a smirk on your lips. 

“Do you even have a bad side?” Roger asked, squinting down at you.

With care, you ran your thumb along Roger’s jaw. “Lots of them.”

He kissed your nose before burying his face in the crook of your neck. More kisses. Slow and passionate. Ratcheting up the mood again. 

“Who knew you’d get so riled up with all this sentiment?” you giggled. 

“Over you, you mean?” he grinned, leaning down to kiss you. His hips rolled against yours as your kiss deepened, limbs intertwining pulling you both together. His movements became more purposeful. The feeling of his cock, still in his jeans, rubbing against your spent and sensitive cunt only made you eager for another round, mewling into Roger’s mouth.

He broke away, planting his hands on either side of you. “Do you want to…you know?”

You smiled sweetly, urging him to go ahead. 

He needed no other encouragement, leaning back to undo his jeans and free his cock. Veined, hard and glistening pink at the head, he stroked his length. The gap between you closed again as he brushed the tip of his cock between your folds, coating it. Head back, mouth open, he groaned contentedly as he filled you for the first time. 

The fire inside you grew wildly out of control as you pushed back into him. Every single move of his was tentative. He was holding so much back. 

“Fuck me like you mean it," you joked. 

Roger dramatically draped himself over you, grinding into you. He kept his gaze trained on you. His pace quickened, unable to maintain his restraint. The soft sound of flesh on flesh began to fill the room, growing louder. “You’re so fucking tight,” he growled into your neck. He was relentless. 

You dug your fingernails into his back and wrapped your legs high around his body, forcing him deeper. Whimpering, you tried to reach his lips to stifle it.

“Moan for me, come on. I want to hear you darling,” he grunted, doubling his efforts. “Don’t go shy on me now.”

You grasped a handful of his hair, pulling him down for a feverish, breathless kiss.

You could feel him becoming tense. His breath hitching. His hips jerking. 

“You gonna come, baby?” you whispered. 

“Yeah,” he grunted, burying his face into the pillow beside you, his movements growing erratic. With one last growl into your neck, his cock throbbed, pumping strand after strand of cum into you until there was nothing left to do but collapse into you.

You held him, bodies glued together in sheer bliss until your breathing stilled. It felt like forever before Roger rolled off you and on to his back. 

He looked over at you from the other side of the bed. Cheeks flushed, lips parted, still wearing that dreamy look of his. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” you grinned. 

Roger turned his attention to the ceiling. Eyes scrunched. Cheeks puffed out. A coy smile on his lips. Then he gave a big sigh. “I think you were made for me.”


	4. My Worst Nightmare, Actually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger sets off on a tour around the US that puts your trust in him to the test.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno, man. This ain't it, chief. Thanks for reading and all the lovely comments. You guys are absolute saints.

All those nerves at the beginning seemed to melt away as your trust in Roger grew. Every time you and him got together, he would pull you out of your shell even more. And everyone around you noticed that change in you.

Until he was due to leave for another tour. 

It had you worried for weeks. You did this in secret. He couldn’t find out about the dread that gripped you in the moments when you were alone with your thoughts. When he was gone. 

How long you had. Where this was going. Who was going to take your place.

It was a wet Wednesday morning and you hadn’t done a stitch. Your blinds were closed and your laundry overflowed from the basket. You wasted precious moments bathing. Only because it was necessary. And putting the kettle on. Again, necessary. 

You had taken the day off work to spend as much time as you could with him before he left. Doing nothing but cocoon yourselves in blankets and work your way through endless pots of tea. You couldn't allow this to bug you any longer.

Unfurling Roger’s arm from around your shoulders, you turned around to face him. Fingers grasping at the edges of the blanket around you. “When do you come home again?”

Roger drained the last of his cup of tea and sighed. “Two months.” He sounded defeated.

You huffed, looking towards the window. “I’m going to miss you.”

Roger stroked your outstretched ankle; little comfort in the face of the first real test in your relationship. “I’ll speak to you every day. I promise."

True to his word, despite the time difference, Roger stuck to his promise. He snuck away from his bandmates, paying through the nose on long distance calls in the early hours of the morning, leaning against the side of a different phone booth every night, wishing he was with you.

Three weeks in, Roger was somewhere in Santa Ana, passing through at a truck stop. His bandmates were within earshot as he slunk towards the row of grubby phones. He glanced at his watch, making sure his timing wasn’t completely unreasonable and began slotting his money in. His fingers jabbed away at the buttons. He had memorised your number by now.

It was three in the morning back home. The trill of your phone roused you in seconds flat. You had moved your phone beside your bed for easy access. Goodness knows what hour Roger would call at on any given day. You had to be prepared. Flinging yourself over the edge of the bed to pick up the receiver, you croaked. “Roger?”

“Hello my darling. What time is it over there?”

You chuckled, lying back down. “Witching hour.”

Roger laughed, leaning his head against the wall in front of him. “It’s always witching hour with you.”

“How was your gig? You had one today, didn’t you?”

“No. We’re heading to LA now. How’s work?”

One of the consequences of speaking every day was that you were quick to run out of things to talk about. All he did was play shows, or scrabble. Or drink. You didn't want to think about anything other than that, though sometimes your imagination ran wild.

And you whittled down the days at a poky little office. It paid peanuts. Sometimes you would go out with friends, but those were good days. Those were rare. “It’s work, really. Isn’t it?”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Roger pinched the bridge of his nose, determined not to allow the hurt to scratch the surface. “And how are you feeling?” His voice was small, now. He wasn’t his usual cheerful self.

A great roar of cheering and giggling erupted wherever Roger was. It caught your attention, tying knots in your stomach. “I’m good. Are you and the guys doing anything nice?”

“Oh, you know,” he began, laughing, “the guys have brought some girls to the bus. But I'm just going to go to-”

Your skin became cold at that sentence. “Girls?”

“Yeah.”

“Ok.”

“I miss you.”

“Do you?”

“I’ll be thinking of you,” he said quietly. 

You weren’t in the mood to play games anymore. You didn’t mince your words, but you couldn’t stop them getting stuck in your throat. “When you fuck them, you mean?”

Roger was taken aback. “You don’t have anything to worry about, I promise. They’re not for me. But you are.”

You rolled your eyes in a bid to not cry. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“I… I lo…I miss you. So much.”

His words weren’t much consolation. “I’ll speak to you soon, Roger.”

You said your goodbyes and hung up the phone. 

Brian and Freddie loitered a few feet away from Roger, discussing their plans for the night. They paid him no attention as he made his phone call.

Until he punched at the wall in front of him. Tears began to crawl from his eyes. This wasn't like him at all.

Sure, tantrums were a daily occurrence with Roger, but very seldom did he cry when anyone was around. He was much too proud for that. Right now though, he was on his own planet.

He stood there for what felt like forever, hands furiously drying his eyes, head bowed. His shoulders rose and fell as he tried to calm himself down.

Brian and Freddie were mesmerised. They glanced at him and then each other, shrugging their shoulders. “What do you think’s the matter with him?” Freddie whispered in Brian’s ear, covering his hand with his mouth. Being quiet wasn’t his forte. 

“Probably another one of his hissy fits.”

The movement of Roger’s shoulders seemed to speed up.

“Do you think we should talk to him?” Brian asked, giving Freddie a worried look, hoping that it wouldn’t have to be him.

“Oh alright, I’ll bloody do it!” Freddie announced, graciously accepting the invitation no one had asked for. 

Without warning, Roger turned around. His cheeks and eyes were red and puffy. “It’s not another one of my bloody tantrums!”

“Alright. Don’t be so dramatic, Rog,” Brian said, holding up his hands. “What happened?”

“I think he’s got himself a new plaything,” Freddie jibed.

In that moment, Roger saw red, closing the gap between himself and his best friend. He puffed out his chest, getting in Freddie's face. “What was that?”

“Oh here we go,” Brian muttered folding his arms.

Freddie stood as tall as he could. His tone was fair and commanding, offering Roger little room to escalate the situation. “Do you think we don’t notice you sneaking off at all hours? Hogging every phone you see? When you're all bleary eyed and quiet? Have you met someone?”

Roger opened his mouth to speak. But he knew the game was up. Freddie had his number.

Deacy decided to make an appearance at exactly the right moment, staggering out of the bus, grinning. “Who’s Roger meeting?”

Roger rolled his eyes and threw his arms at his sides. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve well and truly fucked up now.” 

Before his friends could answer, he darted towards the bus, like a stroppy teenager, running away from all their problems. He paid no attention to the group of girls congregated at the lounge area. Instead, he climbed into his coffin sized bunk and slipped on his headphones. He didn’t want to be disturbed. He wanted to be alone.

Outside, Brian, Deacy and Freddie were still trying to process what happened, shrugging and exchanging confused looks. 

At ten o’clock the following morning, your phone rang again. A rude awakening on your day off. You lay awake the entire night, torturing yourself, wondering what Roger was up to. 

You picked it up, expecting it to be your manager, calling you in to work. 

But no. It was Roger. 

“What time is it over there?”

“It’s two in the morning,” he sighed. “I don’t know why I’m calling you.”

“Guilt? Did you think of me?” The hurt cut through your tone; it was so obvious that Roger couldn’t miss it.

He widened his eyes at your response, seeming to forget your exchange only hours prior. “Sorry?”

“With your groupies? Did you think of me?”

Roger paused for a moment. He took a deep breath, trying to muster the least defensive response he could. “I was awake all night, thinking about you while the rest of them took care of the girls.”

“You've got a show tomorrow. Today, actually. Get some sleep.”

“I can’t,” he whined.

“And you expect me to believe that?” You asked, turning on to your back and staring at the ceiling. 

It wasn’t even the fact that you were convinced Roger had been with other women since he embarked on the tour that bothered you. It was the fact that your brain seemed to be clobbering you over the head with that though all the time. It was starting to make you believe that you weren’t good enough. And you couldn’t string together the words to express that. Not without Roger becoming even more insufferable, for the vicious cycle to start all over again. 

His voice cracked through the rushing in your ears. “Are you still there, my love?”

“I’m still here.”

“What are you doing for the rest of the week?” he asked.

Now he wanted to make small talk? Really? “Working. Same as every other day.”

“Are you off work today?”

What was with all the questions? “Yeah,” you huffed, “I was hoping I could sleep all my cares away and fester in my bed. I feel like shit.”

“If that's what you need, I won’t keep you. Can I ask you one more thing?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you have any more holidays to take off work?”

You recoiled from the receiver, narrowing your eyes. “I have a few. Why?”

The old Roger, the Roger you were enjoying getting to know was back. “Because I think I might sleep better if you were lying in a confined space on top of me.”

“That sounds terrible for me. My worst nightmare, actually.”

“What? A confined space or getting on a plane to see me? Have you ever been on a plane?” He asked, his words gathering pace. “Do you even have a passport?”

“Roger-”

“I mean, it would be great. If it makes you uncomfortable then you don’t have to do it.”

A familiar tightness began to bear down on your chest. The more he spoke, the heavier it grew. You needed out of this conversation fast. “Can I think on it?”

“Of course. Let me know tomorrow.”

And just like that, the weight was lifted. “Ok.”

“Darling?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m with you, and only you,” he said, exaggerating those words. “But I need you to trust me.”

“I’m trying my best. It’s going to take time.”

“Are we ok?”

“I hope so. Please don’t do anything stupid.”

“I won’t. Not until you get here. As I recall, you seem to get a kick out of me being stupid,” he joked. You could picture that smile of his as he spoke. “Enjoy your day off.”

The worries you had about him seemed to subside for the time being. You sighed with a contented smile. “Have an amazing show. Only five more weeks until you're home.”

Roger laughed. “I love you.”

Those words were like a bucket of cold water being dumped all over you. The hairs on your arms stood on end and a shiver ran down your spine. Disbelief seeped into your core again. “Thank you.”

Roger's laughter grew as he hung up. That was everything he loved about you, summed up, right there. 

You had a big decision to make.


	5. The Three Witches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After being so busy with work and Roger, you meet your friends for a catchup. They take a dim view of how great you think your life is going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Think of chapter five as a two-parter from different perspectives. I'm away on my hols just now, but I've been sitting on this part for a wee while, so y'all can have it. Again, thanks to everyone who continues to read and comment. You're making this such a joy to write.

Weekends meant having fun. Something you needed since Roger left. Hair fluffed, make up done, you made quick work of getting dressed. A powder blue sundress and white plimsoles. After all, summer hadn't quite died away yet. You turned in front of the mirror, looking at yourself side on. For once, your eyes didn't home in on your flaws. It was becoming a regular occurrence since you and Roger met. Today was going to be a good day.

Between work and Roger, there wasn’t much time left for your friends. Aware of this, and bursting with news to share about your new love, you rounded up the girls for a lunch time catch up. They couldn’t wait to see you. There was so much they had missed. You were certain they would be dying for all the gory details. As always, your mind raced with all the questions you thought they would be throwing your way.

It was nothing special. A small Italian restaurant in the heart of town. It never bustled like everywhere else, not even on weekends, making it the safest option for you. No worrying about how you were chewing or whether you really did need dessert. 

Wandering into the place, you scanned the room. It was dark, everything a deep damson, lit with the occasional golden wall lamp. The panic began to well up inside you. 

Out of nowhere, your most boisterous friend, Alex, popped up from a booth near the back of the restaurant. With the four of you, together around the same table once more, it felt like nothing had changed between any of you.

After your meal and a couple of bottles of wine, the conversation turned to you. You managed to dodge it for this long and now your stomach had tied itself in knots. “What’s new with you?” Katie - the one who had her life together by the time she left university - asked you. The girls half expected your usual ‘oh, just work,’ response. Nothing could prepare them for what your actual answer was. 

“Well,” you began, wringing your hands together in your lap and flashing a coy grin. “I started seeing this guy.”

Katie and Alex almost spat out their wine, while Molly, the hot nerd, leaned in to you with wide eyes. “What? That’s amazing!”

Alex held leaned forward with one arm, gesturing for you to give them more information with the other. “Tell us everything.”

You felt the blood rushing to your head as you took another sip, buying more time for yourself. Looking down at your lap and grinning, you reasoned that his name was a good place to begin. “Roger. He's called Roger.” That was an awkward start.

“What a terrible name. Who would name their child Roger?” Katie grimaced. 

Everyone around the table gave her a disapproving look before their attention returned to you, like a pack of wolves.

“He’s a musician,” you said. Shoot. For all the time you had spent with him, you sucked at talking about him. Did you actually know him, or had you spent so much time at the mercy of his tongue to learn anything about him? “He’s rather handsome. Likes fast cars. He’s probably going to put me in an early grave, but that’s alright. He’s quite a caring guy.” You nodded, rounding off that glowing appraisal of him. 

Molly narrowed her eyes. “So basically Roger Taylor from Queen, then?”

You smiled, half smug, half mortified.

“The DRUMMER?” Alex blurted. “Oh my goodness. He is beautiful. Please tell me THAT'S WHO YOU'RE DATING?”

You poured yourself another glass of wine, biting your lip, your expression laced with mischief.

“How the hell did you two meet?” Molly asked.

“I was at that work do a couple of months ago and I was drunk. He was at the same bar and he wanted my number.” It was all very matter of fact. You had never thought about the absurdity of it until now.

“So he called you?” Katie asked, emphasising the ‘you’.

That was when it went sour. As if you hadn't been questioning your worth for weeks since you met him. You attempted to continue being perky, but you couldn't hide the disheartened twinge in your voice. “Yeah.”

Molly was quick to pipe up. “I always thought he came across as a bit of a twat. What’s he really like?”

“I thought that too. But he’s caring. And proud. And funny. And he’s encouraging me to try more things that I wouldn’t have done before. You know what I’m like. He’s great.”

"So what have you tried? Sucking a dick?" Alex joked.

"Well, on our second date we went skinny dipping," you said in a small voice.

That did rile the girls up. For a moment, at least.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Katie asked.

“What?”

"Queen are on tour. How long is he away for?” She pressed.

“Five more weeks.”

You response earned raised eyebrows from Alex and Molly.

Katie leaned back in her chair, rolling her eyes. “You do realise what he’ll be up to, don't you?”

“I’m sorry?” You asked, shaking your head, blinking at her. You knew exactly what she was getting at. Despite your woes, you wouldn't have a word said against him. Not when he had already done so much good for you.

“She means, do you realise he’ll be shagging anything with a pulse out there?” Alex explained.

You couldn’t hold back how you felt any longer. Your voice shook when you spoke. “Well if he was getting up to no good, why did he invite me over to see him?”

Katie slammed her fist on to the table. “To lure you into a false sense of security!” 

Molly shook her head. “I don’t think you should trust him.”

You sighed, putting down your wine glass and dragging your handbag on to your lap.

“You need to get out of that soon,” Alex warned, taking a more sober route, “it’s not going to end well.”

“You don’t want to end up with a broken heart, is all we’re saying,” Molly said, trying to find the middle ground in the conversation. 

“Or pregnant,” Alex added.

“Or diseased,” Katie concluded.

Opening your purse and throwing a ten pound note on the table, you looked around at your friends. They were like three witches, gathered around a pot, giving it a good stir. You hadn’t seen them in a while, and you were starting to think that was for the best. “I thought you would have been happy for me.”

“We are,” they whined in unison. 

You stood up as they began to speak, throwing up a had to shush them. “Save it.”

Like that, your mind was made up. You were going to face another fear of your’s. Planes.

And confined spaces.

What could possibly go wrong?


	6. What's That In Pounds?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Boys want all the dirt on Roger's latest conquest...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bitches. Two in one day!

“I’m going to the toilet and then we can get going,” Roger said, rising from his seat. Being tipsy, he flopped back down. And then up again. When he was finally steady on his feet, he pointed towards his wallet on the far side of the table. “One of you, take my wallet and pay my share.”

Freddie picked it up, opening it to get to the thick wad of notes. “What’s three hundred Pounds between four of us?” Freddie asked, furrowing his brow.

Brian was quick to answer. “Seventy five... dollars.”

“Crystal and Jim were here too. Plus a couple of the techs,” Deacy piped up.

“You’ve just fucked up my maths. Great,” Brian said, narrowing his eyes.

“Oh leave them to it, we’ll pay for them!” Freddie said, shooing away Deacy’s observation. “What’s that in British Pounds?” He turned the wallet towards his bandmates, contorting his face into a ridiculous frown. It was bursting with their own currency. But no dollars.

“He’s been here three weeks,” Deacy stated.

“Typical,” Brian said, leaning back in his chair. Something in the wallet caught his eye. It drew him forward again. “Hold on,” he said, pointing to the contents of the cash flap. “What’s that in there?”

Freddie thumbed through the money, coming to a piece of paper tucked into the edge. “Probably a receipt or something.”

“Pull it out,” Brian insisted, wagging his hand. “Give it here.”

Freddie took the piece of paper out of Roger’s wallet, maintaining an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with Brian. He was making sure Brian knew this was wrong. Freddie didn’t look at it, as much as he wanted to, as he turned it over to his bandmate.

Brian took the piece of paper and looked down at it, raising his eyebrows.

“What is it?” Deacy asked, propping his chin on Brian’s shoulder. “Oh wow.”

Freddie gave in. “Oh, fine then. Let me look!”

“What the hell are you lot doing?” Roger asked, standing at the opposite side of the table. “What have you got there, Fred?”

Freddie’s hand, along with the piece of paper dropped below the table. He looked like a naughty schoolboy. “It was all Brian’s idea!” He blurted, pointing at him. 

“Come off it! You wanted a peek the same as the rest of us!”

“I had nothing to do with this,” Deacy said, holding his hands up.

Roger narrowed his eyes, darting them from Deacy, to Brian, and then to Freddie. Then he lunged at Freddie, like a prize whippet at the races, tiny and ferocious. He pounced on Freddie, knocking him off his chair and wrestling him to the floor. Finally, he prised the piece of paper from Freddie’s hands, holding it up to the light to admire it. 

“I can explain!” Freddie said. 

“Roger’s the one with the explaining to do!" Brian interjected. “Who the hell is she, anyway?”

“And why are you two looking so cosy in that picture?” Deacy added.

Roger scrambled to his feet, looking around the room. Every person in the bar was craning their necks, trying to see what all the commotion was about. 

Freddie wasn’t far behind him. “Is that your new girlfriend, Roger? She's very beautiful.”

Roger winced at that question, raising his shoulders and gritting his teeth together.

“Well?” Brian asked.

“We went to the fairground. She wanted the lion. I had to do it. I had to win it,” he babbled, seething beneath the surface.

“But is she your girlfriend,” Deacy pressed, emphasising that last word. "People don't go around - presumably - punching fairground workers for 'not-their-girlfriends,' Roger."

His three best friends were like a pack of teenage girls, the way they closed ranks, smirking at him.

The corners of Roger’s mouth twitched as he slumped back into his seat. He looked as if, somewhere in his own mind, he was walking on air. That was his favourite date in the picture. His eyes seemed to glaze over, his cheeks turned a dewy pink. “Yeah,” he nodded. “I think she is.”

Brian raised his eyebrows. “You think?”

“I mean. I’d like her to be,” he said, feigning nonchalance. He finally cracked, a wide grin bursting across his features. “Oh I don’t know! I’m mad about her," he admitted, giving a bashful shrug.

“Wait,” Freddie interrupted, “was that the girl you were crying over?”

Deacy burst out into hysterics. “I can’t believe you cried over a girl the other night.”

Roger balled up his fist, aiming it in Deacy’s direction half jokingly. “And you haven’t cried over Veronica?”

Deacy backed down.

“But was she? I’m quite curious now, darling. You might as well share with the rest of the group. This beautiful girl has clearly changed you,” Freddie rambled.

“For the better,” Brian muttered.

"When and where did you two meet." Freddie slammed his fist on the table. "We need details!"

“Do you remember that night out we had for Brian’s birthday?” Roger began. "The one where I disappeared at ten o'clock?"

Everyone nodded in silence, already enthralled with the story he had yet to tell.

“She was there. I thought she was pretty. You know what I’m like when I see a girl that clearly doesn’t want to talk to me. I’m all over that like a bloody rash. Well, I persisted. I wore her down. Got her number. Made sure I was sober for the next day. I took her out to dinner. And we've been seeing each other ever since.”

“Do you think she’s just with you because you’re not letting her say no?” Freddie grinned. 

“Prick,” Roger mumbled. “No, actually. It turns out she’s not a total bitch. She has terrible anxiety. Even the wind would spook her. But we’re getting there. I feel like there’s more to her. She's so stubborn. And she’s a good influence, you know? Got her head screwed on.” He continued, looking at the photograph rotating between his fingers. “She makes me want to be better.”

“Oh please,” Brian sighed, jabbing his finger in Roger’s direction and giving him a serious look, “if you get any soppier, you’re going to turn into Deacy.”

“He’s right,” Deacy said, “even Deacy doesn’t want to be Deacy. You've gone soft.”

Roger was still smiling. “I don’t care.”

“Are you serious?” Freddie asked.

“I hope so,” Roger squeaked.

Freddie was quick to bat another question in Roger’s direction. “When do we get to meet her?”

Roger gave a quiet whine and a grimace. “That’s a bit more complicated.” His face dropped. “I asked if she would come over. She took her time answering. I still don’t know. It’d be a lot for her.”

“You know I have a mate back home that listens to some therapy tapes for that exact thing. Maybe you could send her a list of them for the plane over?” Brian said.

Roger screwed his face up at the suggestion. “It doesn’t bloody work like that.”

“And suddenly, Roger’s a therapist,” Brian goaded. "I was only trying to help your girlfriend."

“I took a psychology class at uni. And I'm helping her.”

Brian rolled his eyes.

“You can’t just say this is going to work for her because your mate does it, that’s all I’m saying. Don’t trivialise how hard this is for her.”

“I think he does like her,” Deacy said, leaning in to Brian, who nodded in agreement.

Freddie scooched closer to Roger, joining him at the other side of the table, while Brian and Deacy continued to poke fun at him. “You know, dear,” Freddie began, “I want you to tell your lovely girlfriend that I can’t wait to meet her. And if she does come over here to join us, she’ll be well looked after, I promise you.”

Roger managed a smile, patting Freddie on the shoulder. “Thanks, Fred. I’ll tell her.”

“Call her now!”

“What?”

“Call her!”

“I don’t- OH ALRIGHT THEN!”

Deacy noticed this part of Roger and Freddie’s exchange. “Where do you get all the change to call her if you don’t have any dollars?”

“Oh I blew all my notes on an arcade game at a truck stop,” Roger explained, standing up again. “You know, one of the shelf ones that dole out the coins?”


	7. He's Late

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roger's bandmates mess up your long awaited reunion.

Your heart pounded as you wandered through the cabin. The last time you were on a plane was when your parents had decided on a disastrous holiday in Tenerife when you were still at school. It wasn’t that long ago, but it felt like it had been an eternity. There were, however, a few differences this time.

You would be spending longer inside this floating tin can. You could already feel the germs in the air clawing at your skin.

And then the dull chatter of your fellow passengers. That was going to be difficult to avoid. Even with ‘Soothing Sounds for Anxious Minds,’ blaring away in your ears at full volume. The tape was Roger’s idea. You doubted it would have any effect, especially if you had to have it up so high to hear it.

On the plus side, Roger made sure you were traveling First Class. Something you hadn’t realised until you were on the plane, showing a stewardess your ticket. She immediately sprang into action, “come with me.”

You had to fight your way through the rabble of the Economy cabin. She darted through the horde of screaming children and adults alike, towards the front of the plane. You could barely keep up. Finally, she pushed through the curtain. The great divide. It was like another world, quiet and tranquil. Plush leather seats, champagne and canapés. “You’ll be in here, Miss, at the request of Mr Taylor. Is there anything I can get you?”

The cabin was empty. Taking your time to register that this was where you would be spending your day with wide eyes and an open mouth all you could muster was a quiet, “I need a drink.”

“Of course. What would you like? It’s all complimentary.”

It was so easy, in the lap of luxury to go for something more outlandish than your social standing would allow. Normally a vodka and coke would suffice. But this wasn't normal. Not by a long shot. Without thinking, you droned, “Champagne.” Not even a 'please' in sight.

You had lost count how long you had spent cooped up on the plane when it touched down at LAX. The champagne was, seemingly, the only thing you needed on the trip. And the self help tape was surplus to requirements. You began to wonder, packing up your belongings, why you didn’t do this more often. You could get used to being shipped off abroad to join Roger on tour.

* * *

 

“No! You go and hide in a bloody bar somewhere. I don’t want her coming all this way to be mobbed by you three arseholes!” Roger screeched. He felt like his entire body was going numb. He could barely hold on to the wilting bouquet in his hand.

Roger was no sooner in the private car to the airport but Brian, Deacy and Freddie had climbed in behind him. Much to his annoyance. He needed your reunion to go down without a hitch. And this wasn’t going to help his case.

“Oh don’t be such a bore, darling!” Freddie retorted. "Who wouldn't love us?!"

“I mean it. If my girlfriend flakes out because of you lot-”

“So she is your girlfriend now?” Deacy said. “Interesting.”

Roger sank back into his seat, eyeing his bandmates. “Yeah, I guess she is.” He jolted forward again. “But that’s not the point!”

Brian turned to Roger, putting his hand on his shoulder. “Look, Rog, we’ll go off and hide somewhere, if that’s what she needs.”

“We’re doing this for her, not for you, remember that,” Freddie huffed. “I still can’t believe she’s going out with you.”

Roger clenched his jaw. “It’s a bit cramped in this car. I’m going to call another one for the ride back,” he muttered.

“So you don’t even want us to meet your girlfriend?” Freddie asked.

“Not until you’ve all calmed down. Stop being so hysterical!”

* * *

 

Bags in hand and border control feeling like it was miles away, you waited in the Arrivals Hall for Roger. He was late. Fifteen minutes late. He was never late.

Your stomach churned, wondering where he was. Maybe he had forgotten all about you. Maybe he was back at his hotel, cosied up with a bunch of groupies. All those hours on the plane would have been for nothing. You began to pace back and forth, arms folded, head down. The urge to run off and lock yourself in the toilets to bawl your eyes out was so strong that you had to sit down. If your legs moved any more, then they may well have carried you off to be alone. Slinking down the wall, you hit the floor with a thud. The rushing in your ears had reared its ugly head again for the first time in weeks. That self help tape didn’t seem so bad now.

On the other side of the airport, Roger was breaking a sweat as he darted between travellers. His bandmates weren’t far behind.

“I can’t believe I always listen to you lot. I told you where she’d be, and you’ve led me on a wild goose chase. This is brilliant. Exactly how I wanted this to go!” He whined, his cheeks turning scarlet. “She’s somewhere in here on her own, going out of her mind, thanks to you lot!”

“Rog,” Brian began, pulling at Roger’s arm.

Roger’s first instinct was to turn around and glare at him for holding up his mission. 

Brian was having none of it. “Do you want her to see you like this?”

“Like what?” he scowled.

“You look like an angry chihuahua, dear,” Freddie remarked, breezing past Brian and Roger.

“Come on,” Brian said, “take a deep breath. And bin those flowers. They look more pathetic than you. I’ll get on the phone and have some ordered to your room.”

Roger huffed, beginning to see reason. “You’re right.”

Deacy took his time catching up, but when he did, he noticed the state Roger was in. He whipped a handkerchief out of his jacket and, like a mother hen, began dabbing at Roger’s brow. “Don’t worry. Brian and I will see to it that Freddie behaves himself.”

Brian nodded in agreement.

“Thanks,” Roger said, slicking his hair back, a coy smile on his face. Then he became aware of the situation again, looking around him. “Where is Freddie?”

You had resigned yourself to the fact that Roger wasn’t coming to get you anytime soon. Your legs had gone numb from the perishing cold of the floor and all you could focus on was the breathing exercises droning away in your ears. Eyes closed. Breathe in. Breathe out. Now, imagine you’re in your happy, safe space. Fuck.

Your’s was god knows where doing god knows what with god knows who.

You flung off your headphones, and opened your eyes.

A figure loomed over you. It caught your attention straight away.

“Oh good, you know I’m here! Excellent. Let’s find your boyfriend,” he said, pulling you to your feet.

“I don’t… Wait, where’s Roger?” you asked, grabbing your bags.

“Nice to meet you too,” Freddie grinned. “I dumped him somewhere along here with Brian and Deacy.”

“Everyone’s here?” Your voice cracked. Your legs stalled. You were rooted on the spot. 

“Yes! We wouldn’t have missed meeting you for the world.”

“Of fuck,” you sighed, looking down at the floor, feeling like it was curtains for your excursion abroad.

“Oh thank god.” Now, that was a voice you knew.

Roger burst from the crowd out of nowhere, throwing his arms around you. He picked you up and spun you around so ferociously that you feared the champagne from the plane might resurface. You could feel his heart fluttering next to yours. But you didn’t feel panic. Not anymore.

Plonking you down, he littered kisses everywhere he could. “I’ve missed you so so much. I’m so sorry I’m late. These bastards insisted on coming along and I brought flowers but-” he held you out to get a good look at you. “God I missed you.”

You sighed, giggling away. “I missed you too.”

“Was your flight ok?” He asked, looking concerned. “Did they treat you well?”

“Yes, it was perfect,” you said. “I was getting a bit worried there.”

“I’m so, so sorry,” Roger said, hugging you again.

You buried your face in his chest. “You’re here now.”

The pair of you were forced apart by Freddie clearing his throat, much to Brian and Deacy’s disdain. “Aren’t you going to introduce us?”


	8. Worst Afterparty Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You finally join Roger in the US, however, despite you being there, Roger gives you a big reason to distrust him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAAANGST.

“Are you sure you don’t want to be there?” Roger asked, slipping into a crisp white t-shirt.

You wrung your hands together on your stomach, staring up at the ceiling. The bed had accepted you as its own, and in your state of exhaustion, you huffed. “I’m not really up to it, tonight. Besides, I’m still jet-lagged.”

Roger threw himself down beside you, taking one of your hands and giving it a kiss. “Will you come out tonight?”

Being cooped up in a tour bus with Roger and his bandmates for ten hours forced you into some semblance of being comfortable around them. You paused, thinking for a moment. “Let me sleep this off, and I’ll see what I can manage.”

Roger left for the night, leaving the name and address of the club where Queen’s afterparty was to be held, and the promise of having a brand new outfit sent to his suite, just for you.

Thumbing the card in your hand, you considered his offer before you succumbed to the jet-lag and drifted off.

Four hours later, you woke up to find your room dark and empty. But there was something that called out to you from the far side, over by the dining table. Draped over one of the seats was a crimson dress. Beside it, on the table sat a pair of gold heels, a dozen roses and a bottle of Moet. You ambled over to your gifts on shaking legs and picked up the note nestled in your flowers. “Ask your mum if you can come out tonight. Love, Rog. x.”

As much as you wanted to stay in bed all night and wait for him to return, you were overcome with the urge to put on your new clothes and be a different person. Just for one night. 

And so your mind was made up. An hour later, and looking your best, you strutted into the bar. Heads turned as you delved further into the cloud of smoke that hung in the air. The regret, the panic, the rushing. It all took hold so quickly. You couldn’t ignore the eyes on you. So you kept your head bowed. It did you no good. You hit a brick wall.

“Hello, my love!”

You looked up, recognising that voice. It was Freddie. You needed to find Roger before the room suffocated you. “Hi darling,” you said, giving him a hug and a fake smile. “Do you know where Roger is?”

“We have a lounge through in the back,” he began, pointing towards the curtained entrance at the far side of the crowd, “but it’s more fun out here, don’t you think? Would you like a drink?”

That smile of yours was real now. “I’ll bring him right back out, Fred. Then we’ll come party with you lot.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he said, hauling himself up on to a bar stool.

You nodded, speeding off into the swarm of partygoers. The music in the room was so loud that it made the ground shake as if an earthquake was taking hold. But as you approached the entrance to the lounge, you could hear laughing. Roger was laughing. You reached out and gingerly pushed back the velvet curtain to peer inside.  
What you saw felt like the most vicious gut punch of your life, knocking all the air out of your lungs, sending your head spinning.

There he was, lying on an opulent sofa, with a model on each arm, competing for his attention. You needed to get out of there fast.

The following morning, bags in hand, you wandered out of the hotel towards the bus. Only for Brian to catch your arm. “I wouldn’t go on there if I were you,” he said, giving you a sympathetic look.

You sighed, trying to hold back tears. “I know what he got up to last night.”

“If it’s any consolation, he’s an idiot. We’re going to give him a right bollocking when he wakes up.”

“Fuck when he wakes up. I’m giving him a bollocking right now,” you resolved, wiping your eyes and standing up straight.

Deacy was next to leave the hotel. “Bollocking? Oh, you mean Roger?” He asked. 

You nodded.

“Good for you.”

“Well since you’re feeling brave, can you get rid of those girls too?” Brian half-joked. “Don’t want to smuggle them back into Britain or anything.”

“I’ll deal with them,” you said, dropping your suitcases at your feet.

The noise in your brain seemed to escalate as you marched on to the bus. Bottles lay strewn over the floor along with a trail of clothes, men’s and women’s leading all the way to the lounge area at the back of the bus. Dragging the bead curtain aside, you were met with a similar image to the night before. Roger was precisely the same, but the girls were different. The three of them lay on the sofa, half naked and sound asleep; you thought it ironic as you hadn’t slept a wink for worry. 

You searched the lounge for something - anything - to disrupt the scene, you hand finally finding the neck of a vodka bottle. It was already open.  
Standing above the trio, you doused them, emptying the bottle completely. 

The girls quickly woke up, realising what was happening. They scurried through the bus, gathering their clothes and bundling them in their arms as they left. But Roger refused to budge. He was still snoring away in his underwear, mouth agape, head lolled back against the window. It infuriated you. You decided it was time to get vicious. 

“Wake the fuck up!” you roared, grabbing an empty beer bottle and hurling it at him.

Roger’s eyes fluttered open as took his time sitting up. “Hi darling,” he droned, still in a drunken haze. “Feeling better?”

“Better? Better?!” Tact was never your forte. But to get any meaningful action out of Roger, that was a benefit. He looked wide awake when he realised the severity of the situation. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked, scratching his head, blinking at you.

Your heart sank. Either he was willingly trying to deceive you, or he was so wasted the night before that he had no idea what was going on. You didn’t even want to imagine the other scenario. Maybe this kind of thing was so prevalent in his circles, that it was an unspoken thing you merely had to accept. You crossed your arms, pacing in front of him. “Who were those girls you were with? Who were you with last night?”

Roger’s face fell. “I don’t remember anything.” He was quiet, sober, even. “What did I do?”

Tears started stinging the corners of your eyes. All that pride you had was melting away fast. “When I went to the bar last night, I came to find you, and you were in the back with…” you trailed off, flapping your hand in the air as if you were throwing away the last of that sentence. Great, wet tears made tracks through your makeup. Your legs threatened to give way, while your heart was working overtime, thumping away against your ribs. “And then this morning. You were here. With different girls. What the fuck, Roger?” you sobbed. “Has that happened before?”

Roger leaned forward, staring at the floor. He ran his hands through his hair and gave a deep sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you.” He couldn’t bring himself to look at you; if he did that, he’d be acknowledging the fact that he had let you down in the cruellest way possible. He didn’t want to see you so upset.

“I really trusted you.”

“I know.”

Your mind raced with “I can’t even afford to go home.”

Roger didn’t miss a second. He looked up, taking in the state of you, knowing that this was all his fault. “Can we get back from this?”

Footsteps came thundering through the aisle of the bus. You turned towards the noise to find Brian poking his head through the divider. “We’re leaving now, so I’ve just popped your suitcases up front,” he said softly.

“Thanks,” you sniffed.

“Everything alright?”

Roger was quick to pipe up. “We will be.”

Brian shot him a questioning look, before turning his attention back to you. “If you need us, we’ll be down the front, having a game of Scrabble. You’re more than welcome to join us.”

“Thanks, Brian.” When he was safely out of earshot, you and Roger resumed crisis talks. “All this time you’ve been away, has that happened before?” you pressed.

“You’re not going to go home, are you?” Roger asked.

You narrowed your eyes. “I’m fucking stranded here with a boyfriend who thinks it’s ok to get shitfaced and cheat on me! Of course, I’d like to go home. But you dragged me all the way to a place I can’t get back from!”

Roger propped his chin against his hand, sinking his front teeth into his knuckle. For someone with so much verve and presence, he looked utterly defeated. “If I get you a plane ticket home, can we try again when I get back?”

You shook your head. As upset as you were a moment ago, it dawned on you that if Roger got his way, you’d run the risk of falling into a routine. Things would be hunky dory for a month or two. And then a tour would come around, and Roger would be back to thinking he’s a free agent. As much as you hated yourself, you weren’t prepared to put up with that, even if the good times were almost divine. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Roger nodded, unable to speak.

“I’m going to…” you began, pointing towards the rest of the bus.


	9. Are We Ok?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Still reeling from Roger's betrayal, you and Freddie hatch a plan to get back at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for breaking hearts with the previous chapter. I hope this makes up for it. SO MUCH ANGST BTW.

Brian, Deacy and Freddie desperately tried to look busy as you approached the front of the bus. But even you, in your sad and panicked state, knew their game of Scrabble was all a ruse. They were eagerly awaiting details of the conversation you and Roger just had.

Flopping down in the booth beside Freddie, you tried desperately to gather your composure again. But it was no use. Your body shook as you bawled uncontrollably.

“What’s the matter, darling?” Freddie asked, draping his arm around your shoulder.

“I don’t know if-” you began, sniffling. “If we’re going to be ok. I want to go home.”

Brian and Deacy sat at the opposite side of the table. They exchanged a look, before nodding in agreement. “We’d be happy to pay for your ticket,” Brian suggested.

“It would be no trouble at all,” Deacy added.

“Plus it would give you and Roger some time apart. You never know, you might be able to pick right back up when he gets home,” Brian explained, trying to summon as much cheer.

“I couldn’t let you do that,” you said as Freddie ran his fingers gently under your eyes, catching your tears. “And besides, it’d take a miracle for me to trust him again.”

Deacy and Brian nodded. They knew you had a point. Even they weren’t blindsided by the fact that their friend had hurt you terribly.

“Do you know what I think you should do?” Freddie asked, shuffling in his seat to face you.

“What?”

“I think you should stay.”

“But I can’t-”

Freddie held up his hand to shush you. “Stay. Have some fun. Make Rog see what he’s been missing. He won’t do that again, I can assure you.”

“But he’s been-”

“On his best behaviour, actually,” Brian said, not quite finishing the sentence you started.

“Since he met you, anyway,” Freddie added.

“Old habits and all that,” Brian concluded.

Deacy was quick to impart another detail. “He really does care about you. We’ve even seen him cry over you.”

“I was so sure he’d been sleeping around,” you mused, shaking your head.

“Oh, believe me, Roger used to. But not anymore.” Freddie smiled at you warmly. “Let me take you shopping. We’ll have you out of those drab clothes of your’s in no time and flirting up a storm with someone even more handsome than Roger.”

You looked down at your outfit, tugging at the neckline of your top. Blue jeans. A plain white t-shirt. A pair of blue loafers. It wasn’t fancy, but it was comfortable. “Drab?”

“I quite like your clothes, actually,” Brian said quietly.

“Thank you,” you said, turning your attention back to Freddie. “There’s one glaring detail here.”

“Oh, I know. Your anxiety sometimes gets the better of you. Well, Brian has a stash of those self-help tapes, don’t you, darling?” Freddie pressed.

“I thought that was Roger’s idea?” you laughed.

Deacy rolled his eyes, leaning into the table. He was growing tired of the conversation, so he got straight to the heart of the issue, putting you on the spot in a way that almost terrified you. “Do you love Roger?”

“I did.”

“Would you like to get your relationship with Roger back on track?”

“In my own time,” you squeaked.

“You don’t have to go out every night, throwing yourself at every man who looks at you,” Freddie said, softening his tone. “Just get drunk, flirt with someone and make sure Roger see’s.”

“And then what?”

Finally, Deacy and Brian were getting on board with Freddie’s plan. “And then you stick around until the end of the tour,” Brian added.

Rounding off the plan, Deacy concluded: “To keep tabs on him.”

“And do you think this is going to work?” You asked.

“It bloody better!” Freddie began. “There will be no living with him if he loses you.”

“Vested interest. Lovely,” you remarked, realising that Brian, Deacy and Freddie had succeeded in talking you down. No more tears. Just scrabble and talk of outfits you were going to wear to make sure Roger’s eyes didn’t stray again.

* * *

 

 

As it turns out, the following night’s show was one of the worst of the tour. It all started when you ignored Roger’s pleading for the two of you to share a room. He cornered you in the lobby, still reeking of booze and sweat and sex, trying to apologise. Begging for ‘one night’ to make it all up to you. Instead, you were going to sleep in the master bedroom of Freddie’s suite (he had elected to take the sofa bed in the lounge area, despite your insistence he take the bed).

Roger showed up outside Freddie’s suite that evening with another bouquet of roses, but you and Freddie had gone out shopping together. It left Roger going around the entire crew’s rooms in search of you. Eventually, he binned the flowers.

And then, on the day of the show, Roger kept his distance. You laughed and joked with Brian, Deacy and Freddie, doing their hair and applying their makeup, while Roger sat at the other side of the dressing room, a sour look on his face.

When it was show time, you watched from the side of the stage. You had never been to a concert before. That wasn’t to say you had never wanted to go to one. You adored music and always went about your business with your headphones blaring your favourite cassettes in your ears. But concerts? The vast expanse of bodies. The sweat and the heat. And the sheer amount of noise. It wasn’t for you. But you had the best spot in the house, and you were safe, with a clear exit should you have needed it.

You didn’t. In fact, your eyes were glued to the band. Brian, Deacy and Freddie were all on top form. However, Roger was having the night from hell.

During your dates, he would always bleat on about how the drummer was the heart and soul of a band, half-jokingly, but that night, you truly understood what he meant as he meandered his way through the night. It was like a car crash in slow motion right until the final song.

As the packed venue erupted into thunderous applause, Roger got up and began to haul over his drum kit, sending each item flying across the stage. He didn’t even acknowledge the audience, storming off when there was nothing left to wreck.

After the show, Roger seemed to disappear. It played on your mind as you and Freddie got ready together. “What if he doesn’t show up?” You asked, knocking back a shot of vodka, admiring the clothes Freddie held up against your figure.

“Well, you’re going to have a great fucking time anyway. Fuck Roger.” Freddie was so matter-of-fact as he rifled through the mountain of clothes he had insisted on buying you. He maintained he knew what Roger liked to see on a woman and made your style choices accordingly. Even if most of them weren’t to your taste. “I know this is a little bit out there for you, but why don’t we go a bit more casual?” Freddie suggested, taking out a bright pink silk shirt, dotted with blue brushstrokes.

You scrutinised the shirt. “What am I going to wear that with?”

“I got you some lovely blue leather trousers,” he said, pulling them from the rail.

“Uh-huh. And the shoes?”

Freddie pointed at the shoes you were wearing. Your comfy blue loafers. “Those are perfect.”

“I can’t help but feel like I’m your little pet project, Freddie,” you giggled. Shrugging out of your clothes was easy now that you were sufficiently drunk. You weren’t even sure if the outfit Freddie had chosen for you looked objectively reasonable, or if it was just the vodka telling you lies, but for once, you didn’t hate the image you saw in the mirror.

Freddie wandered up behind you and placed his hands on your shoulders. “It’s because I have a vested interest, my dear.”

“When Roger suffers, everyone does?” you guessed, crossing your arms.

“You said it, not me!”

You and Freddie arrived at the afterparty fashionably late. In stark contrast to the previous post-gig shindig, this venue was surprisingly tame. Brian, Deacy and the crew congregated around a table in the centre of the room, unbothered by other patrons. “Can you see Roger anywhere,” you asked, clutching Freddie’s arm, walking further into the room. The pair of you stopped. Searching.

“There he is,” Freddie said quietly, pointing towards the bar.

Roger sat alone, surrounded by empty glasses, a cigarette dangling from his mouth. He gazed off into space, getting lost inside his own mind.

“See anyone you like?” Freddie asked.

You sighed. “I almost feel bad for him.”

Freddie looked horrified. “Well don’t! He’s harbouring enough self-pity to last him a lifetime. He doesn’t deserve any of your’s.”

“Ok,” you agreed, scanning the room for someone else.

“What about him? He’s much more muscular than Roger,” Freddie said, pointing towards a man who epitomised the term ‘frat boy.’

“He looks like a brute.”

“Fine, I’ll have that one! What about…” Freddie gave a dramatic pause before drawing your attention to an older gentleman, quietly sipping a pint a few places along from Roger. “Him?”

“I’m not looking for a sugar daddy, Freddie.”

He shot you a perplexed look. “What’s wrong with that?”

Then someone caught your eye. The bartender. He was tall, well over six feet, and broad. With thick, dark hair, and charisma that was palpable in every corner of the room. You nodded in his direction. “What about him?”

“Free drinks all night? Works for me,” Freddie shrugged.

You and Freddie scurried towards the bar and hauled yourselves up on to some stools, a few feet away from Roger.

He was still knocking back his drinks with a surly look on his face. His sunglasses were perched on the bridge of his nose; you had no idea if he knew you were there. With the mood he had been in all evening, it was probably best neither of you disturbed you.

Freddie quickly got the attention of the object of your desires, but you froze when he leaned in to take your drinks order. He had such a warm, welcoming smile and the kind of eyes you could get lost in for hours. Where Roger was lively, this man was dreamy. You tried to commit every detail of him to your memory, from his broad shoulders and muscular arms to the dark denim shirt he wore, half buttoned.

And you couldn’t talk to him.

It was sod’s law, really, that Freddie would be the one to introduce you to him and to order a vodka on your behalf.

He served you quickly, whacking an entire bottle of the stuff, along with some shot glasses, down in front of you and Freddie. There wasn’t a ring on his finger. “I’m James, by the way,” he said with a wink. Looking around the bar, he realised that there weren’t any customers waiting to be served, so he leaned over in front of you and Freddie. “I know why you’re here,” he began, nodding at Freddie before turning his attention to you. “But what are you doing so far from home?”

You quickly gulped down another shot. It was your seventh - or was it eighth - of the night. And tried to think up an answer that didn’t make you sound like an idiot.

Again, Freddie was quick to swoop in. “She’s in a kind of ‘fell done me wrong’ situation.”

“Really?” James said, raising his eyebrows. “What did he do to you?”

Freddie pointed over to Roger who was minding his own business. “You see, she went out with Rog over there, our drummer,” he explained, taking a sip of his own shot. “But he’s been a bit of an arsehole.”

You rolled your eyes. “More than an arsehole,” you said under your breath.

James’asface lifted, forming laughter lines around his eyes. “She speaks!”

“Oh she’s a timid little thing,” Freddie said, slapping your thigh. “But she bites. Be warned!”

The ice had well and truly been broken between you and James. Feeling bolder, you decided to ask him about himself. “So do you own this place?”

“I do,” he said, smiling. “I actually inherited it from my father and his before that. We stayed open as a speakeasy during the prohibition era.”

You listened intently as you poured yourself another shot. “That’s wonderful,” you said. “Would you like a shot?”

James smirked, considering your offer. “Why don’t you and I have a couple of drinks together at the end of the night?” He suggested, pointing to the clock on the wall behind the bar. “It’s an hour until I close anyway.”

You looked at Freddie, whose eyes were wide. He urged you on.

“I’d love to,” you beamed.

Someone at the other side of the bar was trying to get James’ attention, but he was so taken with you, he failed to notice. The realisation of what you were doing hit you like a ton of bricks. Suddenly your words dried up.

“Um,” you began, pointing over James’ shoulder, “you should probably…”

“Oh,” James said, looking around. He seemed to have turned into a bumbling idiot, just like you. “Fuck, I should, yeah…”

When he was safely out of earshot, Freddie leaned into you. “Look at you!” He squealed, shaking you by the shoulders.

“I can’t believe that,” you grinned.

Freddie took another shot, and you drank in the view of the bar, looking around the room. Brian and Deacy were still having a civilised time with the crew. Groups of people were dotted sporadically throughout the place, but no one was disruptive. Until you clapped eyes on Roger.

He was sitting there staring at you. You weren’t sure how long he had been doing this for, but as soon as you looked him, he clenched his teeth together, desperately trying to form a smile. Then he waved.

“Fred?” You said, your voice low with renewed nervousness.

“Yes, my darling?”

“Do you think Roger saw all that?”

“Wasn’t that the plan?” He asked, turning around in his seat to face you.

“Yes, but he’s looking right at me.”

“So?”

“What if he tries something? Oh god…”

“What?”

You and Freddie watched as Roger snapped his fingers to get James attention. And then looked on in horror as Roger grabbed James by the collar, like a chihuahua trying to wrestle an Alsatian. You slid off your seat to intervene, but Freddie merely put out his arm to stop you. From what you could gather, Roger was snarling something at him, his face viciously screwed up.

James remained calm, removing Roger’s hands with ease, before leaving the space behind the bar to join Roger on the other side.

By now, Roger’s face was scarlet as he squared up to the bartender, but he got the shock of his life when James grabbed him by his hair, dragging him towards the door. You couldn’t help but laugh as Roger shrieked from the street outside: “Don’t you know who I am?!”

You and Freddie exchanged looks as James returned triumphantly to his post. “He wasn’t hassling you, was he?” you asked him.

He raised his hand and shook his head. “Nothing I haven’t seen before.”

“Good. I know he can be a bit hot-headed,” you began, only for him to cut you off.

“I’m thinking about closing early, do you want to stay for a bit? Have that drink?”

You glanced at Freddie, knowing full well you had his support. And then back at James. “I’d love to.”

In the space of ten minutes, everyone had filed out of the bar, leaving you and James alone together. A bottle of whiskey sat between you both as you eyed each other in one of the booths close to the door. In front of patrons, he seemed like the chattiest man in the world. But alone, you could feel the tension radiating from him, watching your lips intently as you spoke, or slurred, about your trip. Once you got started telling him about everything that had gone wrong, you couldn’t seem to stop. But he grew more and more impatient with every word.

Finally, when he couldn’t take much more of hearing you lament your relationship with Roger, he swooped in. Deep and passionate, he kissed you so intently that you had to cling on to the table to stop yourself falling backwards. Not that it did much good. As the moment intensified, James pulled you on to his lap and began to undo the buttons on your shirt.

Even in the state that you were in, you were still lucid enough the know what was about to happen.

James took off your shirt, sending it flying over the divider of the booth. The bar had a coldness to it now that it didn’t have before and it seemed to drag you into the abyss, in your head, at least. Sure, you went along with everything James did. If only to get back on the tour bus in the morning and tell Freddie, in the hopes that Roger overheard. But it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t thrilling. All you felt was detachment. In fact, your ears seemed to ring like sirens all the way through.

It was always the ringing that drove you to despair. Spent, drenched in sweat and hastily throwing your shirt back on, it even followed you out of the bar and into the street.

You felt sorry for yourself, wandering off into the night, following the streetlamps back down the road to your hotel. The fresh night air stuck a bolt of clarity inside you. Freddie had meant well when he suggested this stunt to make Roger jealous, but if you were honest, it hadn’t achieved anything. It only made you feel even more worthless. Your heart sank.

Maybe you should take Brian and Deacy up on their offer of a ticket home, you thought.

“What are you doing out here? You’ll catch your death.”

That familiar voice stopped you in your tracks. You turned around to find Roger standing outside the bar with those ridiculous sunglasses still on his face.

“What are you doing, Roger?” you asked.

“I didn’t want you walking back to the hotel on your own,” he said sheepishly.

You couldn’t help but get defensive. “If this is your way of-”

“Making sure you’re safe,” he said, holding up his hands, “that’s all it is.”

You sighed. You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t have the energy for it. “Fine. Walk with me.”

Roger didn’t need telling twice. He was glued to your side in seconds. Keeping quiet as you wandered down the street.

But you couldn’t. You had to ask him some tough questions if you genuinely did want things to improve between you both. “Do you care about me?” you asked.

Roger stared into the distance with a small smile on his face. “You’re all I care about.”

His answer didn’t miraculously make things better for either of you. On the contrary, it carved a pit in your stomach. “Well, why did you do that, then?”

“It’s a bad excuse, but we all do terrible things when we’ve had one too many. Me more than most. But I’ve been trying to be better.”

“I think I’ve been a bit worse. I don’t know why I did it.”

Roger looked at you questioningly. “It worked though.”

“What?”

“When I was sitting outside that door there, listening to you and that bloody bartender. God, it made me sick.”

“You heard that?” you asked, sounding dejected.

Roger nodded.

“I just want you to know that I didn’t enjoy it.”

“Why? He was handsome.”

You sighed. “He wasn’t you, though, was he?”

“I still feel awful about what I did. And I can’t even remember what it was that happened. That’s the worst part.”

Finally, the pair of you reached the hotel. The warmth from the lobby soothed your bones as you and Roger waited for the lift to the suites on the top floor. You looked at him from the corner of your eye. His gaze was fixed to the floor.

“Roger?”

He looked up. “Yes?”

The lift doors pinged open, and you got inside, backs against the walls, facing each other. “Freddie’s probably asleep by now. Can I stay the night with you?”

Roger’s sullen expression cleared. “You don’t have to ask.”

“Thanks, it’s just I don’t want to wake him. He seems to like his sleep,” you explained.

Roger nodded. “Oh, no. Of course. That’s no problem at all.”

You and Roger looked each other up and down in silence. It had only been a short time since you and he slept in the same bed, but it felt like an eternity. And so much had changed.

The doors slid open again. Faced with a fluffy, dusty pink hallway, you followed Roger’s lead towards his suite. It was much smaller than Freddie’s and he hadn’t bothered bringing all his luggage inside from the bus. It wasn’t like Roger at all.

Neither was the nervous figure he cut in the centre of the lounge, clasping his hands together and looking around aimlessly. “If you need something to sleep in-”

“My underwear’s fine,” you said, shedding your clothes on your way to the bedroom.

“Do you want me to take the couch?” Roger asked.

You shrugged and spoke calmly. “We’re both adults.”

Roger nodded, slowly stripping down to his own underwear.

You watched him from your spot underneath the down duvet. You could see why girls fawned over him everywhere he went. In fact, it was all you could see.

“Ok,” he said, standing at the other side of the bed, deliberating whether he should get in beside you. “Goodnight.”

You sank your head on to the pillow, paying him very little attention as he crawled into bed, and put out the bedside lamp. “Goodnight.”

It felt like centuries, lying next to each other in silence like two dead bodies laying in wait. In reality, it had only been ten minutes before you cracked. “Roger?”

“Hm?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Neither can I.”

“Can you cuddle me?” you asked, rolling on to your side.

You felt Roger turning around next to you. Before you knew it, his arm was around your waist. He pressed a few quick kisses to your shoulder, his breath was electric against your skin. “How’s that?”

“It’s perfect.”

But there was something in the way for Roger as he took in the scent of your skin. “I can smell him all over you,” he huffed.

That statement made you tense. Half of you wanted to scold Roger and remind him that it was he who cheated on you first. But the other half of you was desperate for him to reclaim you. The truth was, you didn’t want James lingering around on your skin or in your mind.

Roger’s hands began to wander, and, eager for them to explore you more, you turned on to your back. He gently undid the front clasp of your bra, exposing your chest to his touch. Drawing feathery strokes around your nipples, he marvelled as it began to harden. “I had forgotten how much I adore you,” he mumbled against your side.

You ran your hand through his hair, letting out a quiet laugh. “I think you should show me how much you adore me.”

Roger shifted, looming over you, and placed long, luxurious kisses down your stomach. He dragged your underwear, still damp from James’ efforts at the bar down your thighs as his mouth moved lower. Urgent and feverish, Roger’s tongue got to work, eradicating any trace of his rival from your flesh.

Second guessing what was going through Roger's head at that moment was part of the thrill for you as he ardently lapped at your clit. He was making clear the fact that he was so hell bent on showing you that you were his, burying his face against your cunt, fingers clawing at your hips. The noises he made we almost feral, sending vibrations through your body. You could only respond with a breathless beg for him to fuck you.

His movements ceased for a moment, looking up at you. “Are you sure, darling?”

You were desperate to be back in his arms again, so desperate that you couldn’t help but whine. “Please, Roger.”

“Ok, baby,” Roger whispered, his face now inches from your own. “I’m here.”

The relief you felt at having him close again was better than any fucking you could do with any bartender. Having Roger slowly push into you was even more blissful. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him by his hair in for another breathless kiss as he began to gather momentum. He broke away quickly, burying his face into the crook of your neck, overcome with how incredible you felt around him. “I’ve missed you so much,” you whispered in his ear, your cunt grasping at his cock. “I bet those girls don’t feel nearly as good as this.”

“Oh fuck,” Roger hissed, thrusting harder into you. “You feel fucking incredible.” He leaned back on to his haunches, grabbing your waist to hold you up as he pounded you mercilessly. “Let me see you play with yourself, darling.”

You did as Roger told you, and began to circle your clit in time with every one of Roger’s sharp thrusts. He was stroking just the right spot inside you, winding you tighter every time, making you milk his cock. Coaxing release out of him.

You got there first, crying out his name so loud, you feared everyone in the hotel could hear.

He wasn’t far behind, collapsing over you as his passes became jagged. He buried his face into the pillow, and with one low growl, he was spent.

He immediately dragged himself off of you and lay on his front by your side, an angelic look on his face. “Are we ok?” Roger asked, taking your hand and kissing it.

“We’ve got a lot to figure out. But I hope so.”


	10. Anywhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just as you start to think that you and Roger are moving past everything that has happened between you, he deals you another blow that has serious consequences for both of you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S BACK FROM THE DEAD!

Roger’s face contorted. He grasped the bedhead to steady himself as his thrusts became unrelenting. “Did he fuck you like this?” He grunted. “That fucking bartender?”

That question sent a blade of shock cutting through the moment. Just when you were starting to overlook what Roger had done. What you had done. All you needed to focus on was enjoying the night you were spending with Roger. It had been days since you last slept together, burdened by guilt and inability to forget. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on the fierceness with which Roger was trying to reclaim you. You tried to block out his words.

But he was making it hard for you.

“Did he?”

Your stomach tied itself in knots with every single word he uttered.

“Did he fuck you like this? Tell me, baby,” Roger continued.

Something inside you snapped, sitting bolt upright and forcing him off of you. His features were cloaked in hurt as he glared at you.

“Why are you doing this?” you asked, widening your eyes. The panic began setting in, bearing down on your chest as you attempted to claw some air into your lungs.

Roger noticed. But he couldn’t meet your line of sight. Instead, he kept his gaze trained on the sheets, shaking his head.

Your voice faltered as you repeated the question. “Roger, why are you doing this?” The rushing in your ears surged above the unease in the room.

“It was just…I just wanted…” Roger choked, thumbing at the sheets. Then the words poured from him. “How could I compete? After everything, I’ve done? How could I possibly compete with that guy?” When he finished his excuses, he returned to looking down at the sheets, pouting as he did.

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes as you rolled them. The way Roger span the situation was utterly perverse and clawed away at your insides. The fact that he ignored his own betrayal to lay the blame on you had dealt you a blow that you couldn’t get back from. You swallowed hard, lifting his chin, forcing him to look you in the eye. “That’s been my life ever since I met you, Roger.”

You had no sooner finished your sentence, but Roger was back, refusing to look at you.

“What right do you have?” you questioned, your voice growing louder by the word. “What right do you have, Roger?”

It was like talking to a brick wall, even if you could see the heat seeping its way from his cheeks down to his chest. He heard every word, but it was as if he knew that he would never be able to say the right thing to deescalate the situation.

Throwing your arms down by your sides in resignation, it was clear. You weren’t getting any semblance of understanding out of him. The feeling of being stranded here, somewhere in Washington, was at the forefront of your mind. It raced with potential escape routes, each more absurd than the last. At this rate, you could have worked yourself into tears if you remained trapped in that room with Roger. So you took action.

“I’m going to sleep in Freddie’s room tonight,” you muttered, getting to your feet. Your legs felt like they were going to buckle underneath you, but it was imperative you left.

Roger intuited this, not once moving to stand in your way. All he could do was watch you pack your bags and leave. He didn’t feel bad for you. He just pitied himself for driving you to that.

The walk to Freddie’s room felt like an eternity. The floor seemed to stretch on forever, for miles in front of you as if you were on a never-ending conveyer belt surrounded by doors. But finally, reaching the corner, you got to Freddie’s room. Out of breath, with a dull sheen on your skin, you knocked frantically on the door.

When Freddie answered, he was clad in just his robe, with clothes strewn across the room in the background. He was jovial until he read the situation. “Are you all right, my dear?” he asked, placing his hand on your shoulder and furrowing his brow. “What’s Rog done to you now?”

Being in Freddie’s company was surreal. Like being transported into another plain of existence as he imprinted the idea that nothing could hold you back on you. It made you forget Roger altogether as he thrust a flute of champagne into your hand.

“I’m going off to a party tonight, my dear,” he began, flourishing his hand through the air as he returned to the full-length mirror beside the window. Then he turned to you, giving you a knowing look. “Would you like to join me?”

You nodded, draining your glass.

“Good. Open up that suitcase and let's see what we can squeeze you into.”

Roger waited outside the tour bus, bouncing on the balls of his feet. A few moments would pass, and he would look at his watch. Then he’d brace himself against the cold once more. Repeating the process.

Autumn was on the way. A chill in the air cut through the darkness as he looked around. His eyes darted all over the car park. Nothing.

His bandmates had already transferred themselves from their beds in the hotel, into their respective bunks. They were fast asleep in drunken stupors. Not Roger. He had been awake all night, having it in his mind to barge through into Freddie’s room to resolve the situation with a grand gesture and a dramatic kiss. Unfortunately, it didn’t play out like that.

You were late.

That was always his thing.

“She’s probably already on a plane home,” Crystal reassured, throwing down a spent cigarette and stamping it out. He turned away, hauling himself on to the bus. “Come on, mate. We’ve got a long drive ahead of us! Don’t worry about her.”

Roger huffed, shaking his head. Every muscle in his body felt strung out and pulled taut, knowing that something didn’t add up. Something wasn’t right.

He followed Crystal inside, ordering the driver not to move just yet, before wandering up the bus. The aisle was shrouded in a pale orange glow from the streetlamp outside, and quiet snores droned out from curtained bunks containing his closest friends. He arrived at the one he was looking for. Pulling back the partition, he felt no remorse about his actions. “Get the fuck up,” Roger snarled, punching Freddie in the arm. “Up!”

Cutting through the drunken haze of the night of partying behind him, Freddie woke up. A dull, pounding pain gripped his consciousness.

“Up! Now! Fred!”

Freddie’s eyes snapped open, and, still under the influence, he dangled his legs out of his bunk, sitting upright. “What is it?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Where is she?” Roger’s hands were pressed on either side of Freddie. His eyes were wide, his face just inches away from his friend’s.

Freddie shrugged, shaking his head. “She was with me all evening, at the club. Why?”

Roger was growling at this point, his nose pressed against Freddie’s. “I need you to do better than that. Where the fuck is she?”

“She’s not here?”

“No! She could be dead in a fucking ditch right now, and you couldn’t even care less!”

Cutting through the commotion, a mop of dark curls poked out of the next bunk back. Brian peered out. “What’s all this bloody noise?”

“Oh, you shut the fuck up!” Roger hissed, jabbing his finger in Brian’s direction.

Brian just groaned, retreating back to the comfort of his six by four bed.

“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Freddie reassured, batting Roger away from him, making him stumble back.

Roger glared at Freddie as if the more ill he willed him, the faster he would be able to remember where you were. “Which club were you at?”

“I don’t know,” Freddie mumbled. “I think it was called The Den or something. What does it matter? She’s a smart girl.”

It was no good. Freddie’s best efforts at reassuring Roger were futile. There was no talking to him when he was like this. Freddie hadn’t even finished his sentence, but Roger had moved ten paces towards the front of the bus and spun back around to glower at him once more.

“If anything’s happened to her, I’m holding you responsible.”

Freddie slunk towards the front of the bus to join Roger as he instructed their driver to find The Den. Freddie gave vague directions based on what he thought he saw in his drunken haze. Every time he spoke, Roger flinched. His rage seemed to escalate. Every single time.

Half an hour of ‘turn left, left again, right,’ had led the tour bus further into the city. The day had broken, and the streets were bathed in a sheet of fiery red. Eventually, the bus found the doorstep of the club where, just hours prior, you and Freddie were drinking anything, taking everything and flirting up a storm with everyone in sight. The bus hadn’t even ground to a halt, but Roger had jumped out to find that the club had long since shut up shop. The street was deserted. Not even a drunken reveller in sight. Just flyers and empty bottles strewn across the pavement, spilling out on to the deserted road.

He looked around, searching for a sign of life as Freddie hung out of the bus.

An alleyway caught his eye at the far side of the building. A pang of hope and dread twinged in his chest as his footsteps gathered momentum, moving towards the strip of pitch black night. It felt like the abyss. There was no light to be found, but even still. A dip in a pile of rubbish bags called to him. Urging him closer. His movements slowed.

Every part of him seemed to claw its way to the ground when he saw you lying there. Pale. Peaceful. But alive, at least.

* * *

 


	11. Thank You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waking up on the bus after your night out with Freddie, you're faced with some big decisions regarding your relationship with Roger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading, guys!

You couldn’t put your finger on what stirred you. Whether it was the harsh reading light, dancing above you. Or the rumble of the bus as it raced towards its next stop. But the one thing you were sure of, was that you felt dreadful. Your insides burned with the intensity of a white-hot blaze, and your throat felt tight like you were being smothered to death. And the rushing. The rushing in your ears killed the hustle and bustle outside of your six-by-two resting place. It felt like your mind had finally made the decision to wade off into the sea, never to return.

Someone took your hand. You could recognise that familiar, soft and calloused touch anywhere. It was comforting. Grounding. It felt like home.

“Roger?” Even his name caught on the barbs in your throat. “Roger?” It was torture.

He broke into your field of vision, hovering over you. It was obvious from the bags beneath his eyes that he hadn’t slept. That he was wracked with concern and guilt. “It’s ok, my love, I’m here. I’m here now. It’s gonna be ok.”

You knew the mantra he was repeating was more for his benefit. He never would have forgiven himself if anything had happened to you. The weight of your own guilt piled on to your chest with every word.

You grabbed Roger’s wrist and moved it away as you hung your legs over the edge of the bunk. Landing on your feet with a thud, you looked at him, gauging his mood.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, attempting to pull you into a hug.

But you quickly halted him. “We really need to talk.”

Roger sank into himself. You could see that his mind was scrambling, searching for something to tell you to make it all ok. You could see over his shoulder that his bandmates were craning their necks to observe from the lounge. Spying them, you grabbed Roger’s wrist and led him to the front of the bus. You sat on one side of an empty table, and he sat on the other. He couldn’t meet your gaze. He looked so small. Like he was waiting to be condemned.

“Roger,” you began, struggling to find the words to convey everything you felt. But it needed to be said. Gulping down a sharp breath, you sat up straight, fully aware of how ridiculous you looked. Makeup smeared across your face, hair sticking up in every direction. Not so long ago you would never have allowed him to see you like this. It made you fixate on how far you had come. All because of Roger.

Reaching across the table, you took his hand. You never noticed how much they’d shake every time you held them. He tried to squeeze his fingers around your own, but it felt like something was in the way. “Roger,” you sighed again. Then it came out in one garbled mess: “This isn't going to work.”

Roger’s gaze was still fixed on your hand, his thumb gently tracing over the back of it. He nodded. He was expecting this.

“I need to go home,” you explained, your voice beginning to crack. “I can’t stay here.”

“I’ll help you,” he said quietly. He glanced up, still nodding. Tears had formed in the corners of his glassy blue eyes, some trailing down.

Your eyes grew at Roger’s lack of resistance. “What?”

“Listen,” Roger began leaning over the table. “I love you so much. And if this is what you need, I’m not going to stop you. I’ll buy your plane ticket home.”

You leaned back in your seat. A rush of relief hit you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was letting you go too readily. “Did you really love me?”

“I still do,” Roger said, fumbling with his hands.

“I loved you too,” you mused, staring up at the ceiling. “But we’re too different. It was fun for a while, though. Never thought I’d go skinny dipping with a complete stranger. Or get on a plane, halfway across the world.”

“It was nice to have something to care about. Maybe we’ll find a way to be friends after all of this. I’ve got to admit, you were a good influence,” Roger half laughed through the tears he frantically tried to wipe away. Eventually, he gave in, lurching forward to cover his face.

You couldn’t bear to look at him. Your fun, lively, outgoing Roger looked like a broken mess, holding his face in his hands as he sobbed. You couldn’t be around him like this. Getting to your feet, you ran your fingers through his hair. It felt brittle and matted like he hadn’t combed it since last night. “I’m sorry, Roger.”

Taking refuge in Roger’s bunk, you waited out the rest of the ride to Seattle. You spent the journey flitting between burying your face in one of Roger’s shirts and listening intently as Roger lay blame on Freddie. You had no animosity towards him. Hell, you couldn’t even remember what had happened at the club. None of it was Freddie’s fault. But it was typical of Roger to point the finger at anyone but himself. It was all his fault that your relationship had gone sour.

Or was it?

Curling yourself up into a ball and squeezing your eyes closed, you hoped to ignore the onslaught of ‘what if’s’ that your mind was about to hurl at you. Your limbs became cold at the thought that maybe if you had been enough for him - prettier, confident, normal - then things might have turned out differently.

It was time to tap out for a while, you thought, flopping on to your back.

* * *

 

“Darling, we’re here,” Roger whispered, prodding your arm.

Your eyes instantly opened.

“Your flight leaves at seven,” he explained. “I’ve packed all your stuff. All you need to do is freshen up. We’ve got a couple of hours to spare.”

* * *

 

Roger left you alone in his hotel room. He had gone to the bar to give you some time alone to gather your thoughts. You dumped your bags in the centre of the room and stood in silence, drawing in deep, laboured breaths. The one thing that kept you going was the knowledge that this particular journey was nearing its end. You would be home, away from this nightmare soon enough.

A quick shower and a change of clothes were all it took for you to feel slightly more human again.

In the space of half an hour, you were back down in the foyer, where Roger sat, staring absentmindedly out on to the street as the sun began to crack the skyline. His teeth dug into his knuckles, and his foot bobbed steadily.

“I’m ready,” you announced, standing in front of him.

Roger took his sunglasses off and stood up. “Car’s waiting,” he mumbled, picking up your bags.

“I can get those.”

It was no good, Roger was already out the door. You had to jog to catch up with him.

You didn’t want a grand, emotional goodbye. You hadn’t even said farewell to Brian, Freddie or John. But that didn’t matter, you thought, trying to gather yourself in the backseat of the taxi, waiting for it to speed off, hoping you didn’t have to say another word to Roger. Your eyelids drooped closed, and your head sank back. Breathing through it.

And then Roger got in beside you. “Let’s go,” he instructed the driver.

You were in no mood for prolonging the process of leaving him. “You didn’t have to come-”

“Making sure you get on the plane ok.” Roger’s tone was very matter-of-fact. He was trying to mask the pain.

You said nothing else on the way to the airport, or as you barged through the terminal. Roger was just a heavy presence stuck by your side as you navigated towards the departure gate. You half expected him to let you pass, without a proper goodbye. But he grabbed your wrist, stopping you.

“Wait.”

You turned to look at him one last time. Those rose-tinted glasses were perched on his nose. You couldn’t resist going to him, feeling a swell of sadness growing in your chest. Just one last time, you delicately lifted them from his face to get a better look at his eyes.

“Great,” he chuckled, bowing his head, “everyone’s gonna know I’m a blubbering mess.”

“I liked you better without them, remember?”

Roger smiled, sending tears racing down his cheeks. “I remember,” he said, pulling you closer. “I’m gonna miss you.”

You couldn’t help it. Somehow your head found its way to his chest. And his arms wrapped around you. Through the rushing in your ears, you could sense his body brimming with nervous energy. “Thank you, Roger.”


End file.
